Hand in Glove
by windycitywonder
Summary: Bella had trouble finding much else that moved her more than music. What happens when she meets her version of perfection? AU/AH. OOC. Rated M for citrus cocktails and f-bombs.
1. Hand in Glove

**A/N: I'd say it's my first time, but I'm not big on beating a dead horse.**

**This is for hunterhunting. She puts up with my anxieties and still encourages me to write. I admire you, Moongoddess.**

**To my TT h00rs: Let me innn. I love you.**

**And my amazing betas annanabanana and antiaol—the best word surgeons I know.**

**Oh and il_suo_cantante? The awk to my wit. Lose the boyshorts.**

_**Disclaimer: Yo Windy, I'm really happy for you and Im'a let you finish, but S. Meyer had the best vampire series of all time.**_

**I agree, Kanye. No copyright violations are intended, I just like playing with their minds. Always play with their minds.**

**Ok- here we go.**

I hated coffee. Actually, let me rephrase that. I fucking_loathed_ coffee. It was muddy, bitter, and not even the burning of a thousand Altoids would remove that foul filmy shit taste from my mouth after a single sip.

But, in true Bella fashion, all hatred aside, I had become dependent on the otherwise unnecessary substance. This was a reoccurring theme in my life, these addictions. When I thought about it, there was no certain correlation between any of them. It started small: a book I would read until the binding gave out, an album I listened to until I memorized the track lengths down to the second. Then it transformed into something beyond my control. I smoked cigarettes for three years in a long winded fit of rebellion after I graduated high school and moved to Chicago. I had an unprecedented addiction to the word "fuck," and I slept strictly with scumbags.

I used to read Jane Eyre once a month. It took the first three songs from _The Queen is Dead_ for me to get ready in the morning. I would have sold the shirt off my back for a cigarette, and I fucking hated Mike Newton.

My addiction to the douchebaggery that was Mike Newton started out as simple as anything else. He knew beat poetry by heart, he rolled his own cigarettes, he drank hard liquor before the sun went down and he permanently looked about two days overdue for a shower. If my unconventional nature wasn't already cemented, I sure as shit brought it home by dating the guy who played bass in a band for a "living" and constantly smelled a little bit like pot.

I blame my apathetic nature in regards to the opposite sex as the reason for not having caught the warning signs about Mike sooner. It wasn't that I was opposed to sex specifically; but when I reflected on my short list of bedroom experiences, the only things worth notice were that I had perfected the art of the fake orgasm and the only true sexual satisfaction I encountered was in the company of a battery-operated device with stored fantasies of a faceless man. And that, in my opinion, was pretty fucking weak.

In retrospect, I should have known the night Mike took me on a "date" to his band's show and I found more than one Nickelback song on his iPod something was askew. Still I let it go because he didn't _completely_sketch me out, he wasn't the worst kisser in the world and I had three fucking Justin Timberlake songs on my playlist. If I was being honest, I was happy with settling. I knew by dating someone who kept me, albeit mildly, entertained, I wouldn't be walking the plank of disappointment when it didn't work out. I had abandoned any hope of a fairy-tale romance. I was the poster-spawn of the split home, and I learned at a young age finding Prince Charming was about as likely as dinner with the Easter Bunny.

The thing that blew my mind was that my addiction to Mike wasn't rooted in anything rational beneath the surface. The sex wasn't good. He had exactly five stories stockpiled to share only when in the company of a group of people. I fucking hated that he called me "babe". His band was shit, and I was tired of telling him otherwise. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. In my case, hindsight was a tiny dick and an unwarranted superego.

After a few weeks of seeing Mike, I noticed the cracks forming in his carefully crafted persona. What I originally thought of as artistic and mysterious suddenly appeared fraudulent and pathetic. His regular tales became grander, and with their new twists and punch lines, he lost track of who knew which version. He blamed his ever-present buzz. I began to see him unraveling, yet I couldn't let go.

I wanted to let go, but I couldn't.

I had become addicted to the false sense of security Mike offered. His hollow promises distracted me from the truths I avoided. He never meant a word he said, but he put on a believable front. His entire existence was staged, and I was merely part of the performance. When realization struck, I categorized myself as a fraud of equal value. I was guilty of immersing myself in his world for as long as I had. His lack of any long term friends assisted in my conclusion that this was a normal Mike cycle. He wore out those around him and traded them in for new models.

The new Bella model was Jessica Stanley. I would've missed her altogether if I hadn't sought out Mike after his gig at a dodgy downtown pub called Tyler's to tell him I had work in the morning and would be heading home to turn in. After my revelations, I made a conscious effort to see him no more than was necessary without provoking suspicion. In my own mind, it was a brilliant ploy. His web was tangling, and I was tired of his shit. I planned it out so in a few weeks time, with our interactions dwindling and my presence less frequent, he could easily forget about me and move on to the next victim. I was far too socially awkward to begin to consider an uncomfortably formal "It's not you, it's me," breakup conversation, and the idea of avoidance seemed more appealing. As I rounded the corner of Tyler's, I spotted Jessica New Model on all fours, while Mike was leaning up against the graffiti covered wall; her mouth barely full with the entirety of his cash and prizes. Neither sensed my presence, and I felt less voyeuristic and more like I needed to immediately bleach my eyes. Somehow I even managed to notice her vermillion claws dug deep in the flesh of his pasty thighs. His jaw was slacked while he leaned casually against the brick with his eyes closed, and I felt the results of seeing such a disturbing display work their way from my stomach to the back of my throat as I spun on my heel and walked in the opposite direction.

A normal response would have been to scream, cry, run and not look back or look for the closest object suitable for anger-driven castration, but I found it impossible to be angry with Mike. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was the undeniable prickness that accompanied his back alley blowjob, but really, I had used him as much as I had been used by him.

In a response which not only deviated from the norm but also shocked the shit out of me… I laughed. Whether it was a testament to my awkward nature or a walk on the line of certifiable, padded-room insanity, I couldn't be sure, but I stood in a side alley in the middle of the city and laughed until I cried.

I lost track of how long I was caught in the hilarity until I felt a hand on my shoulder. My body stiffened immediately.

"Hey babe, I've been looking all over for you." I cringed when he dropped the 'b' word, and he stroked the crown of my head. It wasn't a romantic gesture in the slightest; there was no emotion attached.

I dabbed the inside corners of my eyes to make sure there were no post-laugh tears left on my face. Mike looked concerned briefly, but the moment was fleeting.

"Oh have you? I was just coming to tell you I was leaving," I said, finally making eye contact, noticing Jessica sheepishly flanking him. Mike held a glass of an amber liquid, and my eyes darted between the two of them in silent question.

"I was just getting Jessica something out of the merch box." He smiled and continued to pet the back of my neck. I was too lost in my own thoughts to give a shit.

Jessica obviously needed to be trained. She blatantly shot daggers at me as I executed the most uncoordinated half-chuckle half-cough on record in response to Mike's lie. The voices from patrons on the sidewalk outside Tyler's grew louder as the three of us walked silently and uncomfortably toward them, the tension palpable in our strides. When we reached the opening, Mike's drummer Eric came over and clapped him on the shoulder, and Jessica rushed back into the pub. Mike draped an arm around my waist lazily, a silent maneuver signaling the beginning of his performance. My stomach boiled in disgust. I knew I should have walked away the minute I saw the display behind Tyler's. Even though I harbored some serious self worth issues, it was clear even I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I wanted to let go, but I couldn't.

I somehow managed to stay silent and still while Mike prattled on and on about their "awesome" set and upcoming plans for a mini tour throughout Illinois. The dullness numbed me, and I lost track of time completely.

The light shuffle of Mike's remaining cigarettes alerted me it was well past two a.m. His glass was conveniently three quarters empty as he slurred his two cents. "Don't ever give up on anything you can't get through a single day without thinking about," his glazed pupils pleaded. I laughed as he spoke to the small group surrounding us and took credit for the mildly insightful thought. I recognized it from a postcard that sat on his kitchen table.

"I'm out of here. I have to work in the morning." I attempted to squeeze out my best fake yawn to add believability.

"Babe, I'm so bummed you're going." Mike leaned in for a goodnight kiss, and in a moment of debatable brilliance or craziness, my lips brushed his cheek and whispered, "You're a fucking fraud. I'm done."

Like a true performer, Mike's expression only faltered momentarily, not wanting to be caught in the current altercation in front of an audience. He looked at me with a tight smile and moved in to kiss the side of my head. I shook off his advances and walked away. I wanted to let go, and I could.

The fuckery which was Mike Newton was indirectly the reason I bought coffee at all and was late to work the next morning. I freed myself of one addiction, and fed another. I couldn't find room to complain; the absence of Mike in my life felt like a huge weight had been lifted. I wished I was actually awake enough for my victory to be fully enjoyed. I grumbled as I eyed the cup of unreasonably hot liquid in front of me, pulled out a gloved hand to hit pause on the "Wake the fuck up Bella" mix and approached Pack Records. I pulled out my earbuds and pushed the door open with my hip, chiming the bells that hung along its frame. I saw Jake immediately at the cash register, his enormous frame practically folded at the waist while he read. Jake was a few years shy of my twenty-five and was rarely in the store he technically owned. A true Y-generation entrepreneur, he made his first million before his twentieth birthday by creating a networking website geared toward unsigned musicians and bands. He opened Pack Records two years ago in an effort to revive the culture which had become dependent on illegal downloading and instant entertainment. Jake had the money to spare, and in my opinion, he harbored some serious High Fidelity envy. He never denied those claims.

"Hey Bells," he called out when the last of the chimes rang and signaled my entrance. I pulled at the tip of my fabric covered finger with my teeth, removing my black gloves, and put them in the messenger bag slung over my shoulder.

"Hey Jake. Everything alright? I haven't seen you in a while." I had worked for Jake since the day he opened the store. I loved my job, and while Jake was away, which he often was, I took over the majority of the managerial work at Pack. I had a degree in Journalism from Northwestern, and did a fair amount of music related articles for local papers and magazines, but Pack felt like home.

He finally looked up from the paperwork which had been holding his attention and smiled brightly at me. I removed my coat and dropped my bag on the counter. I grabbed the handful of windblown locks falling over the newly exposed skin of my collarbone and fastened it into a messy array at the nape of my neck. It was then I noticed Jake's smile was a little bit too big, and it was a little bit too fucking early to be that happy.

"You were supposed to open the store at nine. The midget called me at 9:03." He raised a black brow and glared at me. I took a sip of my still scalding coffee and looked at him in disbelief.

"Alice? How did she even get your number? I'm sorry I was late Jake, I…" To be quite honest, I hoped he would cut me off, so I didn't have to spout off about the Mike drama. I was really fucking thankful that he did.

"Save it, Bells. You know it's fine. And I don't know how she got my number. I'm not ruling out that girl's ties to the mob. Or any other illegal crime organization. Freaky little…"

"I CAN HEAR YOU!" I couldn't stifle the giggle which erupted from my mouth when Jake's head snapped to the back of the store where Alice was skipping through the Jazz section, her arms outstretched touching every album within her limited reach.

"Wake me up, and tell me we're opening late. Satan's sidekick…" Jake continued to mumble under his breath as Alice got closer.

Alice Cullen had been a daily visitor to Pack for the past month. It all started when she came in with a stack full of colorful flyers, almost taller than her petite frame, spouting off a mile a minute about her boyfriend's band and their upcoming show and the tape, oh my in the name of all that was Scotch, the _fucking_ tape. She was a tornado of more energy than any human should embody. An hour later, Pack was covered in promotion for Alice's boyfriend's band Soul Soldiers, she'd declared we were going to be the best of friends, I had six separate phone numbers to reach her at and a "date to do lunch." She was too girly and too pushy, too hyper and too much; but she was real and she didn't take shit from anyone. I fucking liked Alice.

That was, until she somehow found my not-so-boss-boss' unlisted phone number and called him to rat me out for being late to work. "I'm sorry, Bella," she sang as she popped herself up on the counter in one fluent motion. "Your phone was off all night. I was worried."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that I uh…" I started.

"You broke up with Mike, I know," she stated, so matter of fact that frankly, I was a bit fucking annoyed.

"How did you…" I asked, looking between her and Jake, blushing furiously at the sudden influx of attention on my social life.

"Just a hunch," she shot back. If there was one thing I'd learned in the short time I had known Alice, it was not to second guess her hunches. She was usually correct in her assumptions. I didn't want them explained…ever. I often got the visual of her sitting in front of a Ouija board with Tarot Cards scattered all around as she wore one of those fortune teller gemmed hats and surrounded herself with four crystal balls. Very excessive, even for clairvoyance. Very Alice. "We're going to 1918 tonight," she said as she picked a magazine off the counter and began aimlessly flipping through the pages.

"What? No, Alice. I work until eight and I didn't bring a change of clothes," I said, motioning to my tank, cardigan and crimson bubble skirt. Alice had been trying to get me to go to 1918 for as long as I'd known her. I remembered her saying in passing her older brother worked there. I don't remember what he did or anything else from the conversation, but then again Alice did speak at the speed of a six year old who had twelve Pixie Sticks too many.

"But Bella, Soul Soldiers are opening for California Waiting!" She smiled immediately, knowing I would be intrigued that Jasper was on a bill with my favorite band. The show had been sold out since about two minutes after tickets were released.

"What? Alice, how? That's fucking incredible."

"One of the bands dropped off the tour a few days ago. They needed to fill the slot, and we called in some favors." It didn't surprise me. While she was a far cry from Yoko-ing that shit, Alice dedicated an impressive amount of time promoting and supporting Soul Soldiers.

One side of my lip curled upward at her use of "we." She and Jasper were disgustingly adorable on a bad day, and fucking nauseating on any other. Not necessarily in the public display sense, more in the capable of having a full conversation with just their eyes sense. I had only spent a few nights out with them as a pair, but they were a blast. I would never admit it in a public forum, but there was part of me that was envious of them. Jaded Bella knew it would never happen, but buried deep beneath the scars of experience, Dreamer Bella craved that kind of connection.

"Called in some favors? Did you make anyone cry, Alice?" Jake chuckled loudly, successfully pulling my attention back to the discussion at hand.

Alice barely seemed phased by the stab as she shrugged her shoulders and replied "No more than usual." She shifted her cornflower eyes in my direction and pleaded "Say you'll go? Please, Bella. You _know_ you want to."

I was desperate to see California Waiting live. I had done several album reviews and write-ups about them but had missed the one time they stopped in Chicago in the past year. For about three seconds, I had contemplated trying to snag a press pass for the show and whipping up a review afterward, but the more I let the idea stew, it felt manipulative. I didn't want to work while seeing them; I wanted to experience it fully.

I bit the inside of my cheek and eyed Alice with speculation. Jake had a smug smile on his face, likely knowing I would give in to her plans.

"Fine," I sighed, a bit more dramatic than intended. The truth was, I was thrilled to finally see a good show. I had been so busy dropping by Mike's gigs I wasn't sure I'd know good music anymore if I hadn't actively been seeking it out on my own.

Alice began clapping furiously, looking like something akin to a demented fairy attempting to launch into flight and then made some sort of awful high pitched squealing sound. "Okay, great. I'll call and make sure we're on a list. I'll pick you up at eight, Bella. We're going to have so much fun! We'll get a stiff drink in you, and then you'll forget all about Mike the Fuckbucket. And then we'll get a stiff…" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"ALICE!" Jake and I screamed in unison. She giggled and hopped off the counter, taking the magazine with her and walking out the front door of Pack.

By the time seven rolled around, I was on my sixth cup of coffee, seventeenth Altoid and twelve minutes, thirty two seconds into California Waiting's latest album. The store was fairly empty and I blocked out the conversation my co-worker Sam was having with a customer about the merits of Insane Clown Posse. Didn't think I missed a fucking thing there. I found myself getting lost in the smooth bridges and tunnels of notes flowing through the speakers, the vocals, an accented vehicle, transporting the lyrics to their destination. I swayed slightly to the progressions and kept rhythm with my foot as I alphabetized the small selection of world music albums Pack had in stock.

Roughly thirty-two minutes into the B-side singles of California Waiting, Alice arrived. I quickly ditched my gloves and coat in the break room of the store, not wanting to tote them around all evening, and if we were taking a cab, I didn't have to worry about getting too frigid in the November Chicago air.

Alice had brought a flask of Black Label for the ride over, and I wasn't sure if it was the nostalgia of drinking before a show, my overall non-shitty day or the booze in general which caused me to be slightly flustered upon our arrival. My stomach tightened and I genuinely had butterflies I was so excited.

Once we paid our fare, Alice led me by the hand through the line of hundreds waiting to get inside 1918. A temporary barricade was set up to aim for some sort of organization, but we bypassed the entire crowd as we headed straight for the front door.

An empty barstool sat directly outside the main entrance, followed by a few sections of velvet rope. Alice continued tugging me along, and the logistics of such a tiny person walking so fast baffled me. Upon reaching the door, a man, who could only be described as a descendent of Andre the Giant with mitts the size of my fucking head, looked down at Alice as a huge grin crept over his face. He picked her up by her tiny waist and threw her over his shoulder. I didn't know whether to scream or punch him, although I was pretty fucking sure that in punching him I would only injure myself.

"Em! Put me down!" Alice squealed as the mammoth spun her around in a few circles. The veins in his arm rippled while he moved with her, and the contractions of the muscles under his solid flesh would have turned me on if I wasn't so fucking terrified in that moment. He set Alice back on the ground and she frantically ran a hand through her spiky mane.

"Bella, this is my brother, Emmett," Alice said, the annoyance seeping through her voice. This was the brother she had told me about. I was suddenly curious as to what Mama and Papa Cullen looked like if they could have children of such opposite physical polarities.

Emmett delicately placed a kiss on the top of my hand and smiled seductively, "Nice to meet you, gorgeous." I shivered a bit, whether from the chill of the air or the flirtatiousness of Emmett's introduction I wasn't sure. I felt my face warm, and as we walked by Emmett I gave a shy wave. Because I was a little bit tipsy, and a lot fucking awkward.

1918 was the newest venue in Chicago with the most buzz. It had an ideal location, close to several restaurants and local bars. Tickets to shows sold out within minutes, and its reputation drew the attention of several popular artists searching for an intimate setting for a concert or two away from the stadium tours. It had been open for close to a year, but not even my freelance work had brought me there. Once Alice and I walked through a small emerald corridor and emptied into the massive performance space, I was in awe. There were two wooden bars running down both opposing sides of the room. The stage was at the far end, ready for Soul Soldiers' set. Above the raised platform, on both sides, were quaint private balconies and an entire second floor standing area. I turned slowly to take in all the intimate details of my surroundings. A massive antique chandelier hung from the ceiling behind the lighting grids, and there was a large VIP area on the upper level, including a bar that tiered up to the furthest wall. There were rich draperies hung in gold, green and maroon throughout the venue, and its lush décor made it hard to believe there would soon be a thousand or so bodies packed in to its remarkable interior.

"What do you think?" Alice yanked me from my gawking, and I shook my head briefly.

"It's… it's fucking wonderful, Alice." She beamed at me and pointed over to where she'd spotted Jasper when we came in.

After a few minutes of chatting with Jasper and his bandmates, we wished them good luck and headed for the bar. The room was filling up fast, and my buzz was wearing off. I knew it wouldn't take much to find the warm fuzzy companionship of inebriation again, considering I hadn't eaten a thing but lethal peppermints all fucking day. She ordered us both two shots of whiskey and a mixed drink I couldn't hear the name of over the growing sea of people. I felt the warmth of the whiskey seep down my throat, slowly spread out into my limbs and cloud my brain. The lights looked softer, the crowd calmer. The venue was almost filled, and Alice insisted on watching Jasper from the side of the stage. That diluted the experience in my opinion; I wanted to be packed in with the people.

I spent the first few songs of Soul Soldiers' set standing by the bar where there was a bit more space between bodies. I danced without hesitation, getting wrapped up in Jasper's rough velvet chords and musical poetry. At the end of every song, I held my rapidly emptying drink above my head and jumped and landed and bounced in celebration for Soul Soldiers. They not only booked a show at 1918, which was a feat in itself, but Jasper and company opened for one of the best bands in the country. And unlike Mike, Alice's presence and Jasper's in turn felt undeniably right in my life. I was proud for my new found friends and thankful for a new beginning.

And thankful for whiskey.

As Soul Soldiers' set wound down, I turned back toward the bar to get a cup of water. I wanted to be tipsy for California Waiting, not take of my top and dance on the bar wasted. As I spun around, several things happened at once. My foot caught on the bottom of a stray barstool and tripped me. Why the fuck the stool was there in the first place was beyond me. Then my whatever-the-hell mixed drink fell from my grasp and in slow motion, I prepared myself for the impact between my jaw and the glass that would surely shatter before I reached the ground. Before I had time to brace myself, something pulled me up fast enough that I was convinced I suffered whiplash, and my head smacked into another solid object.

"What the mother fu…" I started, grabbing for the sore spot on my head and the back of my neck simultaneously.

"Fuck. I think your fucking head broke my nose," a nasal voice responded. I rolled my eyes and turned to face the savior turned victim. His face was hidden behind the hand pinching his nose, and he was looking up at the ceiling. I was momentarily distracted at the line of his jaw, strong and sturdy, as I saw him visibly swallow. His Adam's apple bobbed, and I paused to stare as if I were watching a fucking historical event. I focused my attention to the hand that pinched his nose, the adoring fingers a perfect blend of masculine strength with a hint of feminine softness, and wondered how much time had passed since our collision.

I rattled the obvious alcohol induced thoughts from my mind and spoke up. "Oh chill the fuck out and let me see," I snapped, sassier than intended. As if I _somehow_ gained the smallest bit of grace or confidence from my several drinks and was not a bumbling ball of clumsy at the moment.

"Please," I quickly amended, feeling the blush tickling up my cheekbones.

From under his hand, I saw the corner of a perfectly proportioned pair of lips lifting slightly at the edges. He slowly released his grip on his nose, finger by gloriously long finger, and as his face lowered and entered my view, I was almost positive I made a sound no human had ever made up until that moment. One part gasp, two parts moan, equal parts "_fuck_."

My eyes swept rapidly over his face , his body, committing it to memory; my brain certain he would vanish at any moment. I refused to blink. I tried to speak, but words failed me. They, too, were unable to function at the sight of him; none adequate to describe his glory. I couldn't say he was perfect by societal standards, but fuck…he was _my_perfection. The faceless man who starred in my every fantasy, my every dream and every extension of my subconscious finally had features. Flawless features. The dim lights of the venue tinted his hair in golds and reds, the strands standing and falling in every direction. A dark pair of distinct brows rested atop two eyes the shade of moss, earthy and intense and beautiful and addictive. A steel hoop hugged his left nostril, and for the life of me, I couldn't remember how I ever said a negative fucking thing about men with nose rings. The velvet lips, which moments before held a captivating grin, were now in a line, a small barbell visible in the fullest part of the bottom. As soon as I focused my gaze on the piercing, it was gone. I furrowed my brow in confusion, convinced I had definitely lost it at that point, when the metal reappeared. And then I noticed it wasn't his lip… it was his tongue. He slid the ball over the soft pink of his lower lip and, at an achingly slow pace, maneuvered it back into his mouth. My breathing picked up, and I prayed to the powers that be I wasn't literally panting. At this point, it wasn't out of the question. My eyes continued back to his face, where his almond shaped orbs were fixed on me, and I may or may not have stopped fucking breathing altogether. It was already apparent that every physical shift by this man was wired directly to my undercarriage, as I felt the involuntary tightening between my thighs. That was when it hit me: I had completely abandoned the task at hand and was openly and non-soberly eye-fucking the shit out of him.

"How is it?" His voice was as flawless as the opening chords to an all time favorite song. Three words, and I was home, comfy and cozy.

"How's what?" I was too lightheaded to notice if I sounded steady.

"My face?"

_Don't say perfect. Don't say perfect. Don't say perfect._

"Perfect." I automatically cursed my lack of a drunken awkward filter. My eyes widened, and I attempted to save myself, "Your nose. Your nose is perfect. It's not bleeding. It's fine. Not your face. Not that your face isn't perfect, or fine, but your nose… it's both, too. I mean…fuck. I'm sorry. Does it hurt badly?" I dug my teeth into my bottom lip, gnawing on the skin, suddenly mortified. I avoided his gaze by focusing on my hands, wrung in front of me. When I gained just enough courage to look up again, he smiled at me.

"I think I'll survive. How about you?" He was still grinning at me like he was the only one in the room who knew a dirty little secret. I wondered if he had some superhuman sex powers and could detect my body's involuntary reaction to him.

"I'm fine. People are staring, you know," I said, uncomfortable with the eyes I felt on our exchange.

His lips moved silently, and without thinking, I inched closer to hear him. He was magnetic and breaking the few inches between us made all the difference. I was wrapped in warmth and fragrance and man from our proximity as I leaned in further to catch his words. "If the people stare, the people stare. I really don't know, and I really don't care."

I really fucking hoped the whimper I made was muted by surrounding conversations. "The Smiths?" I beamed, recognizing the lyrics. Sparks flew through my brain and between our eyes, an exchange so overwhelming, I began to feel my knees weaken.

"You little charmer." His emerald gaze fell on mine, and the heart-melting half-grin was back. He was quite a bit taller than I, and his chin almost touched his chest when he looked down at me. "Yes, The Smiths. What were you in such a rush for just then?"

I assumed the music conversation was closed with his sudden shift. Who the hell quoted a song at random and dropped it? If he was Mike, he would have gone into excruciating detail on the artist, album and any quirky anecdotes from its conception, but then again, Mike only waxed knowledgeable on bands from the pages of "Playing Pretentious for Dummies." No, this man was definitely no Mike. The flutters in my stomach and the dampening fabric between my legs were evidences of that much.

"Oh, I was just going to get some water," I answered, pointing in the direction that which had become crowded during the set intermission.

He departed without a word, ducking under an opening in the wood paneling and popping up behind the bar. I gaped at him from several feet away as he walked up to a breathtaking woman with golden strawberry hair taking orders and making drinks with style and speed. As he whispered to her, she didn't look at him like he was completely insane, which I took as a good sign. When he pulled away, she yelled to someone at the opposite end of the counter and looked back at me and winked. A few seconds later I saw a baby-faced teenager with a broom and dustpan pushing his way through the crowd to get to the broken glass reminder of my clumsiness. He carefully swept up the shards, and I watched, a new wave of embarrassment washing over me. A red cup of clear liquid came into my view, and my breathing picked up again when I saw the fingers wrapped around it. His presence spoke to every nerve in my body without words, and I silently wished for another glass of liquid courage to help my chances of keeping him around for a few more minutes. He held a Heineken in his other hand and passed me the water.

"What, do you work here or something?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow, thrilled to know I was still tipsy enough to not stumble completely over normal human interaction. I wasn't a flirt by a long shot, and it pained me to think for an instant about how fucking pathetic I possibly looked.

"Or something." I gave him a shy grin and held the cup of water up.

"Mysterious. I'll take that. Well thank you…" I looked at him in question.

"Edward." Fuck me even his name turned me on more than it rightfully should. Not that it was a particularly attractive name to begin with; but I was certain he could tell me he was called Webster McGalliwag Leg Humper the Fourth, and I still would have pictured myself whispering it in the throes of passion. "And you are?"

"Bella. Bella Swan." I wasn't sure why I opted to introduce myself like some sort of fucking secret agent.

"Your name is Bella Swan?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Um, yes?"

"As in, beautiful swan?"

I rolled my eyes. "The irony isn't lost on me. Believe that."

"What irony would that be?" He pulled the green beer bottle to his lips and took a swig.

"The irony that although my name suggests otherwise, I never quite graduated from the ugly duckling phase," I shrugged my shoulders. In my opinion, that was easy to tell by anyone with two semi-working eyes.

"Well, _Bella"_he exaggerated my name and looked at me so intensely I think my body could have burst into flames in that moment, "I think you've been holding on to some seriously warped perceptions of yourself."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I fucking sucked at taking compliments. Awkward filter off, I looked him dead in the eye and tried not to focus on how red my face likely was. "I need a fucking drink," I said.

Edward inched towards to me, slowly, and my body screamed for him to hurry the fuck up and close the void between us. He rested his hand on a pillar behind my shoulder and continued to hold my gaze. "You already have a drink, Bella." His voice was a raspy whisper near my ear, and I desperately wanted to record it and make it my fucking ringtone. It was the sexiest sentence ever spoken. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth, nibbling from the inside, occupying myself so I didn't launch myself at the sex personified leaning beside me.

I had no idea why out of the blue I was contemplating propositioning strangers at shows, but when I felt his closeness, the currents rushing between us, I couldn't find a reason not to. I had to explore the feeling, see why my reaction to Edward had been so intense. It was completely out of my character, but I wanted to stay near him. I could feel myself becoming addicted to his presence, and the need felt incomparably bigger than the coffee or cigarettes or books.

"Whiskey. I need whiskey," I said, frozen in place. I knew California Waiting would take the stage shortly, and I craved another spurt of inhibition. Edward searched my eyes for an immeasurable moment before he pushed himself off the wall with one arm and headed toward the bar. His lean but solid bicep contracted with grace under his black t-shirt, and I appreciated the lines of his angled back as he retreated. He was mixing a drink in no time, leaning into a conversation with the bartender who was still handling the mass of patrons. Edward seemed to know his way around the space fairly well. The display added to my suspicion he was a bartender himself.

He quickly returned with another red plastic cup and passed it to me.

"I figured we should have you steer clear of the glassware for a while," he smirked.

I took the drink from him and was both surprised and mortified when I stuck my tongue out like I was fucking seven years old. He looked as shocked as I felt and poked his out briefly, still long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the trapped steel once more and unconsciously lick my lips in response. The apple of his throat bounced again, and again my eyes were glued to its motion. At that point, I regretted wearing underwear at all. In my defense, I hadn't the foggiest idea I'd have a literal run in with a man who's every miniscule movement drove me and my body to uncharted insanity. We were still openly staring at each other when he spoke. Well, I stared at him. He was looking at me with darkened eyes, but I wasn't positive it wasn't because he thought I was slow and had a speaking/walking/staring problem.

"Follow me, I know the best spot we can watch from," he said. I turned to follow him without question. The alcohol effectively fulfilled its purpose; I felt relaxed as Edward took long strides in front of me. I could not bring myself to avoid the fact that he said "we," maybe indicating for some fucking reason, he wanted to be around me as well. Edward glanced over his shoulder every few steps, and soon we were standing in a darkened area on the left near the front of the stage. He was right; the view was perfect. While there was still a crowd packed tightly, we were tucked back several rows next to a barricade and under the canopy of the second floor balcony. I sipped my whiskey next to him, the stream spreading evenly throughout my veins. Without warning, the current between us became a quake as he gently wrapped his hand around my waist and shifted my body so I was standing in front of him. I knew I would never forget the way he felt there, assertive but comforting. I looked up over my shoulder at him, and Edward shifted his eyes to the heavyset man who had miraculously squeezed into the small space next to us. I smiled a thank you and turned toward the stage just as the lights went down and the audience erupted into cheers.

As the lights came up over the stage, the crowd surged forward, effectively slamming me into the barricade and Edward directly into me. I should have expected the movement, but nothing in the known world could have prepared me for my reaction to the way Edward's body curved flush against mine. His hips pressed firmly into my back, and my nipples gripped their secret steel in reaction. I closed my eyes and leaned back into him rather than away, and I felt two strong hands on my hips helping me back evenly on my feet. I missed the contact immediately, but could still feel the waves crashing through his fingertips. His hands retreated slowly, and the air from my lungs caught in my throat when he lowered his mouth to my ear.

"Are you alright, Bella?" he breathed huskily, firing off a domino effect of goosebumps that ignited at my earlobe and traveled quickly down the left side of my body before the right followed suit.

"Mhmm," I said softly. I was sure he didn't hear it, but I felt his hips twitch behind me, pulling him into my orbit once again. I pressed my legs together tightly and wondered how the fuck I went from being thrilled about seeing my favorite band perform to questioning how I would make it through the entire evening without some sort of release.

The starting notes blared through the speakers as the rhythm invaded my ears, pulling me from my clouded mind, and suddenly everything was clear. I cheered with the rest of the fans and immediately recognized the tune. I looked at my nearly full drink; the ice melted in the heat from the sea of bodies surrounding us. I threw the straw on the ground beside me and downed its contents and aimed the empty cup for the waste basket behind the barricade. I didn't see if I made it, but directed my attention back to California Waiting and was whisked away from reality with their melodic storytelling. My hips swayed as the bass line replaced the thumping of my heart in my ears. My eyes fluttered closed as I rocked from side to side; my arms poorly mimicking the drum beats I had memorized so well. Between the familiarity of the chords and choruses from the band combined with the constant humming reminder of Edward directly behind me, I was on the verge of a sensory overload. On a pass of my hips I felt something solid behind me and my eyes snapped open and over my shoulder to Edward. He was standing still, eyes black, perfect lips in a straight line. He looked down at me with…disapproval? I tilted my chin to the side as to silently inquire what the fuck was wrong with him. I didn't have any room to give a shit, but I gave a shit. I tried to justify it as not wanting his Debbie Downer ass anywhere near my good times, but I knew the truth was I thought that he was bored. That was a ridiculous, especially considering I had no room to be seeking affections from strangers, no matter what they did to my lady bits. I had, after all, just broken up with Mike the previous evening.

_Who gives a flying fuck about Mike?_I asked myself. It was more the liquor that asked and not so much brain, and I couldn't help but agree. I didn't give a shit. I had let go.

Edward didn't respond…just stared. I shrugged it off and turned back toward the stage, the bright flashes of light not quite meeting us in the private corner. I sang along loudly, sure that my voice would be gone by the end of the night. The song came to an end, and I felt a twinge of guilt as I wondered where Alice had run off to, but I was comforted to remember she was with Jasper. I knew she wasn't the type to be packed into a crowd during a show. I figured it was probable she was off drinking and sucking face.

The next piece started and it was rougher and edgier than the first, my body automatically responding by thrashing about. I lifted my hands over my head and pulsed with the beats and rhythms exiting the speakers. I screamed when the lead singer held the mic out to the crowd, knowing I wouldn't be heard but being under the spell of the band's undeniable presence. I jumped up and down and drunkenly shook my hips; mid shake, I was halted by Edward's firm grip on my side.

"Bella, I'm trying really fucking hard to not be a creep here." He swept the hair that had fallen from my careless bun out of the way of my ear. The quake had returned. My body trembled at its own accord from his touch. I could tell he wasn't speaking very loudly and was shocked I could understand him over the crowd and music. "So if you could do me the favor of not tempting me by shaking your ass right in front of my fucking face, I may be able to stop myself from doing something really fucking ungentlemanly."

My addiction to the word "fuck" reached new heights in that moment.

My mind was swimming in pools of sound and silence following Edward's confession. I had misinterpreted his earlier reaction. He wasn't disapproving, he was restraining. My heart, historically unaffected by potential attractions, tightened. It seemed impossible that the godlike creature, whose lips were dangerously close to my flesh, could harbor any interest, let alone, any of the non-platonic variety toward me. I knew it was necessary to make a decision on how to proceed and to decide fast. On the one hand, the idea of me trying to harness any sort of seductive prowess was completely fucking laughable. But on the other, whiskey and I had gotten along famously so far that evening.

I was amazed by the fact that I knew Edward was practically a fucking stranger, and it didn't cloud my consideration in the slightest. To be honest, I was _more_ amazed that in such a short amount of time, the stranger could also be strikingly familiar and warrant reactions from parts of me I hadn't even known existed.

It was the quickest decision I ever made. It was also the easiest.

I spun around and tried my best to look playful and not cross-eyed while I stared up at him. His features were merely shadows in the dark; exactly how I remembered him from my dreams. The spotlights landed in our direction every few seconds, and then I could make out his eyes perfectly.

I took a jagged breath. _Mr. Daniels, please don't fail me now._

"The last I heard, Edward… _gentlemen_ didn't have metal bars through their tongues." I hoped my smile was sturdy because my knees were fucking shaking.

"I find that both generalizing and offensive, Bella." I was still trembling. I felt so in tune with his presence I could feel the smile in his voice. He was playing along.

"Really?" I asked, lifting my pointer finger and placing it print-down against the satin of his lips. "Because I think it's kind of sexy."

I felt his mouth open in response, and I waited patiently for the breath of his words. Instead, in a move that would go down in the books as Open the Floodgates 2k9, Edward ran the raised silver bead from the underside of my knuckle and up the pad of my thumb. He paused and retreated, pressing his tongue back into my skin with varied pressures. By the third pass, I thought I would come on the spot, and as he licked one last sweep up and down my finger, I moaned. I couldn't remember the last time, if any, I had genuinely moaned from pleasure. But I did. I moaned, and it got lost in the surrounding scene.

_But_, _sing to me in the key of fuck, it felt fucking fantastic._

Applause erupted from the crowd and signaled the end of another song. I clapped along with them and grinned in the dark as I turned back toward the stage, hoping Edward was not done with his ungentlemanly displays.

I spent the next four songs focused on the individual stage personas of California Waiting. Actually, while I _was _getting lost in peaks and valleys of their performance, the mixture of the music and the man behind me had me in such frenzy my mind couldn't settle for more than a few milliseconds. I thought, after my advances, Edward would have budged a little, tossed a "let's get outta here" my way, and we'd be riding off into the cityscape. I only knew I had made the decision to explore my reaction to him. And after his tease, I thought it was settled. Instead, every time I looked back, he would send me a friendly grin and continue to mouth lyrics, as if he hadn't just said minutes before he essentially planned to attack me in front of an audience.

Two minutes and fourteen seconds into California Waiting's "Charmer," my feet took turns holding the rhythm. I tapped and tapped, bouncing my head, and was willingly pulled into the chords spewing from the speakers. I felt the waves build in my chest and crash throughout my limbs as Edward's arm crept out from behind me and stretched across my stomach until he gripped above my hip on the opposite side. His fingertips strayed slightly, fluttering over the material of my tank top, and my whole body began to heat up. It wasn't uncomfortable or forced; it was familiar like most things I had noticed about Edward. The pulse between my legs had not only returned but transformed into an ache and was accompanied by the indescribable coiling of my abdomen. He swayed my body in time with his, my back resting on his chest; our movements a composition, for the performers we watched on stage. He pulled me closer to him, and I tried to memorize his scent. And with my new proximity, it was pretty fucking apparent I was having an effect on him as well. I hoped for a moment he was packing heat, because if the massive stiffness that brushed against the small of my back was actually physically attached to Edward, I was in fucking trouble. Like potential post-coital reconstructive surgery trouble.

"Charmer" winded down, the lead singer announced the last song of their set and it was a shock to no one that they closed with their most popular single. Edward made no move to loosen his grip on me, but as the audience erupted into the standard near end roar, he placed his cheek flush on the side of my head, his mouth a breath away from my ear.

"I love this song. Do you like this song?" I nodded and tilted my head toward him in an attempt to close the small but infinite space between us.

His hand detached from my side and traveled slowly to the hem of my shirt. With feather light touches, Edward ran his fingers along the sliver of exposed skin, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His digits rested along the top of my waistband and he inhaled deeply, sighing on the exhale.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm trying to control myself. It's never been… I can't… It's fucking cra…" he stammered, the struggle in his words apparent.

"Stop trying." It was the simplest advice I could think of.

I felt his laughter vibrate through my insides. "You really shouldn't have said that." His tongue darted out to the flesh behind my ear, and he licked downward to the column of my neck, stopping the path only to close his smooth lips over the skin in a kiss. I didn't give a shit that there were people close by because it was only Edward and I and our created electricity which existed at that moment. It didn't seem anyone was paying the slightest bit of attention to us, anyway, and knowing that made the situation all the more erotic. I whimpered as Edward pursed his lips and blew a stream of cold air down the path he'd just taken with his tongue. My hand rested on his at the top of my skirt.

"Bella," he said, nuzzling his nose in the nook behind my ear as I closed my eyes and combined his liquid voice with the band's current impromptu guitar solo.

"Mmm?"

"Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt?" he asked.

"What?"

He readjusted his hand so his palm laid flat against my belly button. I squirmed when the tops of his perfect fingers dipped below the waistband of the crimson fabric.

_This cannot be fucking real._

His other arm held me close, the bulge from earlier still quite fucking present against my back. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself and tried to concentrate on anything other than Edward's hands inches from where I wanted him most. I couldn't focus on anything for an extended period of time, but it seemed that we were the only people standing remotely still, even with our swaying. Our neighbors were oblivious to the fact that an incredibly fucking magnificent creature had his hand almost fully in my non-pants.

"I came straight from work," I replied honestly. The only way we could hear one another over the crowd was if we screamed or spoke closely to the other's ear. We chose the latter.

"Well it's far too fucking tempting," he said, dipping his hand lower, at the top of my panties now, and I was completely lost. Caught between notes and sweet nothings, his hands and voices, I was wandering into the unknown and more than content. "Tell me to stop."

"I can't." It was true. I couldn't, nor did I want to.

"Bella."

"Edward. Don't stop." He listened. I couldn't believe he actually fucking listened. His hand maneuvered under the fabric, and he trailed a finger front to back along my entrance. My eyes drifted closed, and I bit my bottom lip, suddenly sensing the explosion of color and noise and pleasure around me. I heard light and saw sounds, and everything made perfect sense and no sense at all. Edward timed his movements to the music with such ease I thought it was choreographed.

His fingers curled into me; in time, in rhythm, in search of my spot. He rolled my clit in between his thumb and forefinger upon arrival, a drumroll to my impending explosion. His head came to rest on top of mine, singing in perfect key along with the band on stage. I opened my eyes and surveyed the area, California Waiting building up to the bridge of their last song. A crescendo ignited, and Edward picked an opportune time to slide a fingertip back and forth, waiting for the notes to stack up enough for him to slip into me completely. The music grew louder, adding elements as Edward added another digit. I bucked against his hand, his pumping a perfect punctuation to the impending explosion.

"Bella, let go," he instructed.

_I want to let go, but I can't._

"I can't," I said.

He was pumping faster, but his act still remained a mystery to those around us. His thumb stroked me softly like a sweet summertime song. The two fingers he held inside me angled and curled, a cymbal crash against my spot. I felt my own crescendo approach.

"Fuck, Bella. You feel incredible. Please let go."

_I wanted to let go, but I couldn't._

A series of almost-moans escaped my lips, and I was fucking positive I saw unicorns and bunnies; rainbows and the fucking Lucky Charms mascot frolicking along the sidestage. Any arbitrary addiction I had in my past paled in comparison to the need I had for Edward to touch me like this forever.

"Bella," he said, his voice a rough tenor as the audience continued their oblivious cheering. "Bella. Fucking. Let. Go." He bit down on the skin at the base of my neck and moved inside me a few more times. I felt myself tighten around his fingers, and I quivered, which turned into a quake and eventually an eruption and I lost my breath and found my euphoria simultaneously.

I concentrated on breathing while I came down from the natural high. Edward removed himself from my skirt, and I turned to look at him just as the lights were coming up on California Waiting. Even in my current utopian state, I somehow managed to whistle and scream for them as they took respectful bows and left the stage.

I could have been biased. I could have been drunk. But in my opinion, it was the best fucking show I'd ever been to.

When I faced Edward, he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his eyes from the floor to me nervously. I thought for an instant that it would be hard to focus on anything other than his fingers, but I found the entire package equally mesmerizing. 1918 emptied quickly, some fans stopped to pick up a CD or t-shirt on their way out. The dramatic stage lights went out completely as the industrial fluorescent bulbs turned on and tinted everything a depressing grayish-purple. In a few minutes time, we stood amongst only a handful of other concert goers and 1918 employees.

I was at a loss of how to proceed. I looked at him through the tops of my eyes, awkwardly shifting my feet beneath me. The dopey smile on my face for which he was responsible was impossible to hide.

"So," I said, kicking the straw I removed from my drink earlier, "what now?"

His eyes lit up, and he grinned brightly at me. "Well, I have some things I need to take care of…" There it was. Of course Edward was too good to be true. I tried to not let the disappointment show on my face as I waited for him to tell me he turned into a fucking pumpkin at midnight. "But, if you wanted to wait by the bar for about ten minutes, I'd really like to take you out for some coffee."

I tried to stifle my giggle but was unsuccessful. "You know," he continued, "in the name of doing things out of order."

It wasn't an appropriate time for shy Bella to appear, but alas she did. I nodded and recognized the flush creeping up my skin. I planned to text Alice and let her know I would get home on my own. She had Jasper to make sure she was back safe and sound.

"Okay. I'll be right back," he said and departed with a breathtaking smile which I swore almost reached the ceiling. I followed him to the bar while he chatted with the knock-out again. If I hadn't still been coming down from a fucking legendary orgasm and was a little more sober, I might have been jealous. He came back to the patrons' side of the bar, the woman handing him what looked like a credit card receipt.

_I don't even know his last name._

I rested my palm in a pool of liquid on the solid slab of oak, and watched Edward's fingers grip the ballpoint pen to sign. They looked foreign now in the harsh florescent light of the bar; out of place doing anything but bringing me pleasure. I closed one eye to steady myself and prayed for a stop to the spinning of my brain, but I made a mental note to thank Johnny and Jack thoroughly for my current state. I glanced down at his elegant script and was fairly fucking certain that his tab was more than my monthly rent. Before I could be assaulted with the image of lying naked on a Bentley and Mr. God-Fucked-Me-Fingers coming in spurts of gold, the light tug on the damp cotton of my tank pulled me from my reverie.

"BEWWA!" Alice gripped my shirt tighter and pulled down as she attempted to steady her footing. Her hair was a mess, and not in the normal styled-but-not Alice fashion, she had a run in her stockings, and she fucking reeked of booze. I saw both Jasper and Emmett approach, Jasper carrying Alice's jacket and one of her spiky heels.

"Bewwa, I'm missed youuu sommuch. SOMMUCH!" she slurred.

"Jesus, Jasper. What the fuck did you give her? You know she's your girlfriend, right? You could probably snag a beejer without liquoring her up." I smirked as they got closer. Alice was a lightweight in every sense of the word, and I assumed by her current state that she had approximately drank either three beers or a half of a Long Island. "Great set by the way."

"Thanks, Bella," he said as he peeled Alice off my shirt, bending over to wrap her tiny arm around his neck. She burst into a fit of giggles, pulled the beanie off Jasper's head and tugged it onto her own, covering her eyes. She stretched her arms out as if to mimic an airplane and kicked off her other shoe before she ran in wide circles across the littered floor of the club. Jasper took off after her which left Emmett and I to stare at one another awkwardly.

I didn't have a fucking clue what to say to Emmett. We both darted our eyes around the room and concentrated on anything but the other. I was thankful when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward step away from the bar and walk toward us.

"Hey, man. Emmett, this is…" he began, pointing between Emmett and myself.

"Bella. I know. We met earlier."

"What? When? Just now earlier?" Edward asked, confused. The only thing I understood was they knew each other, and I kind of knew both of them as well.

"Earlier tonight when I got here," I clarified.

"And it was a pleasure," Emmett wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Are you hitting on customers again, Em?" Edward seemed mildly amused by the random incident.

"Hardly. I came with his sister."

Edward tilted his head and smirked. "You came with Alice?"

"Yes. I came with his sister, Alice. How do you know her?"

"EDwurd. I havesnt seens you alllll night!" Alice stopped her imaginary flying and joined the discussion. She threw her arms around Edward's neck and I looked between the two of them, mystified. Alice stepped back from Edward and looked at me. "EDwurd! Did you meet Belll-ll-lla? She looooves California Waiting! Bella! Thisis Edward, my brother," she sang.

"I thought Emmett was your brother?"

"You cun has more than one brothers, Bewwa."

I struck any plan of gushing about the night over brunch with Alice anytime soon. _Oh yeah, Alice, and by the way, your brothers fingers are laced with magic come dust. Can you pass the grapefruit?_No fucking thank you.

"Well isn't this just a fun little fuckin' coincidence." Emmett rang in as Jasper approached. He acknowledged Edward with a chin tilt.

"Hey, man. Thanks so much again for giving us the slot. We really appreciate it. It was surreal."

"No problem, Jasper," Edward said. "Anything I can do to help, really." Edward gravitated closer to me, and I was suddenly confused once more.

And again, tipsy Bella mixed with awkward Bella equals word vomit. "You gave Soul Soldiers the slot? How? I thought you were a bartender."

Emmett and Alice giggled, and Edward shot daggers at them. "No, Bella, you assumed I was the bartender." He smiled softly. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I was on the verge of bolting in seconds. Memories of Mike's fraudulent tendencies crept into my mind.

I could tell Edward sensed the discomfort in my expression, and his brow creased. "What are you?" I asked.

"I'm the owner, Bella."

_Well fuck me sideways. I didn't see that one coming._

"Oh." It was all I had. I felt exposed suddenly, four separate pairs of eyes burning holes into my skin. "Well, that's cool." I couldn't begin to organize the questions I had. _Why wasn't he in an office or some shit? Why was he taking random girls to Pleasuretown in his own establishment? And why the fuck did he pay his own bar tab?_Later, I decided. I needed to ride out the rest of the evening happily, and I couldn't let my fucked up paranoia ruin that.

"Well, I'm on my way out," Emmett declared. He clapped Edward on the back and did the same to Jasper. "Bella, it was nice to meet you." He smiled, no trace of flirtation in his voice. "Have a good night, guys."

"Yeah, we should head out too," Jasper said. Somehow Alice had passed out on his shoulder, and he picked up her legs easily. She readjusted herself to his chest, and Jasper smiled at me, "Will you be okay to get a cab back, Bella? We have the van with all of our stuff in it. I'd be happy to give you a lift." I quickly glanced at Edward, and by the time my gaze landed back on Jasper, I was positive I had revealed my plans for the night. I still answered him.

"I'll catch a cab, Jasper. Really, it's fine. Thank you."

"Edward, make sure she gets home alright, okay?" Jasper looked like he would burst into laughter at any moment, and I was convinced he winked at Edward when he walked by.

Once it was the two of us, I felt the hum of electricity drawing me closer to him. I decided I could really fucking get used to it.

Edward walked a few paces ahead of me toward the exit, and once outside, I wrapped my arms around my body to combat the chill. There was a line of cabs in front of 1918, and Edward opened the door to one, glancing back at me.

"Coffee, Bella?"

"No. I don't like coffee." It was true. Addicted? Sure. Enjoyed? Absolutely not.

His brow creased and he angled his body to get into the awaiting vehicle. I cleared my throat ran my teeth over the flesh of my bottom lip.

"I'd fucking love some tea though, Edward," I amended.

He turned back and I saw his shoulders shake while he chuckled. He reached out a hand to help me into the yellow cab, and I eyed it with caution. I could feel the newly familiar electricity from several feet away. I took a breath, stepped forward and Edward wrapped his hand around my own as he helped me in the taxi.

_I could let go, but I really didn't fucking want to._

**The original intention for Hand in Glove was just this.**

**Things can change.**

**What's your addiction?**


	2. McFearless

**So it's been what, a million years? Give or take. I sent you all smoke signals from my island of fail...did you get them?**

**Thanks to word surgeons annanabanana and antiaol for their beta magic.**

**and the TT h00rs for being the jizz stain on the pillow of my heart. I mean that with love.**

**I got two turntables and a microphone, but S. Meyer owns all things Twilight. **

-----

**EPOV**

_Mine eye and heart are at mortal war_

_How to divide the conquest of thy sight;_

_  
__Billy Shakes. I think I've finally got it._

It only took fifteen years of sonnet and stage. Continued analysis of the nearly foreign form of English, the stories composed of love, death, betrayal and unfathomable connection.

It was the connection that kept me hooked. Dudes read Shakespeare to get laid. A few memorized lines from _Midsummer _or spouted off observations of _As You Like It_, and in their minds, the deal was sealed. It wasn't like that with Billy and me. I needed confirmation these connections existed. I craved knowing there was potential for real life forms of Romeo and Juliet. The spark. The instant. The knowing. The love. All of it, save the tragic yet poetic suicide.

Hopefully.

Maybe it made me a pussy, and I didn't care. I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to comprehend the origins of passionate words which fell from pens and lips of poets and musicians alike. My attempts were futile. They were all on FM, and I could only tune in to an AM frequency. I tried to force fervor, and only got static. In my mind, Shakespeare took on the shape of a wicked farce. He was the guy telling stories of wooing and inexplicable chemistry to nail the girl. But fuck if he didn't prove me wrong. There I was, physically connected, fingertip to fingertip, with the only being I had ever encountered who had the ability to assist in my understanding of that passion.

Touching Bella...

was the first time I heard Teenage Wasteland.

It was understanding all the shit Morrissey had whined about for years.

It was a head-on-collision with the previously unattainable empathy for all creative inspiration.

She _existed_.

_Fuck, Billy Shakes. Turns out you were right after all._

My eyes and heart were at war over her perfection; each convinced their purpose was storing the sight of her. My eyes noticed the moon catching the tangles of the mahogany waves resting at the tops of her shoulders. My heart felt the quick breath she inhaled when she reached for my hand to pull her inside the cab on the curb.

And the way she _felt. _A series could be written on the battle of jealousy between my body and my fingers for having been inside her. Volumes created on the soft curve of her stomach. A special edition dedicated to the line between her earlobe and the base of her neck. A chapter detailing her reaction to my tongue trailing along the underside of her finger.

Mahogany waves? The trail of my tongue? I _did_ sound like a pussy.

In any case, the moment I spotted Bella in my venue, something in me ignited. I knew how fucking cheesy and cliché I sounded. It was intense, but I couldn't say it was love at first sight. Because first off, I had a dick. Secondly, my reaction to seeing Bella wasn't even comparable to love. Not saying one was greater than the other, but it was an untapped emotion, its own separate entity. It was euphoric. I was so overwhelmed with the new sensation, I felt the wind had been knocked out of my lungs, getting a head start on its journey to my personal manifestation of perfection before my physical form could follow suit.

I literally caught my breath in time to see her snag on the foot of a wooden barstool.

_Whoever put that there is fired, _I thought humorlessly before launching myself forward to stop her impending fall. It could have been slick as shit; her easily landing in my awaiting arms, thankful for my watchful eye and assistance. I would have made a witty joke, and she would laugh whimsically, and I would commit the sound to memory and her movements to my spank bank.

I was never that great with words, anyway.

My only success was physically catching her before she hit the floor. The failure began when I slammed my nose into the back of her head, and we both stalled in a swarm of swears flying off the walls and conversation around us. She smelled like blackberries and honey. Knowing either had a scent was excusable. But being able to identify and relate them so easily to Bella within seconds of crashing into her kind of freaked me the fuck out.

Then she sassed me, and I smiled. She stared at me and it should have made me uncomfortable, but it didn't. I licked my lips just to taste the air circling around her.

She stumbled adorably on her words, and her ivory face transformed into a remarkable shade of amaranth underneath the dim house lights. I didn't know girls still blushed. Her perfect lips pouted a "fuck," and I almost came on the spot. I was already eyeing the exit, dreading the moment I had to pull myself from the addictive air between us. But at the rate things were going, I would need to escape and turn my cock up to the waistband of my boxers to hide the tent Bella unknowingly assisted in pitching.

She mentioned The Smiths, and I was embarrassed when I noticed the lyrics running through my mind took a detour through my mouth. Of course she would call me on it, because she was incredible and she liked music and she probably knew all my favorite movie lines and authors, too. I changed the subject and risked a glance at her again. Her lips looked like the perfect pairs on Valentine lollipops with white lettering, stained with phrases like "kiss me" or "be mine." The candy was processed, and I bet Bella's lips tasted like heaven and the end of Cupid's arrow rather than the saccharin sweet of hardened colored syrup. I wanted to find out as soon as fucking possible.

She talked about getting water, and I would have brought her Lake Michigan in its entirety. My legs pulled me to the bar before my brain could catch up to Bella's request. I asked Tanya to cover for me in case I was needed. It was _technically_ my night off. I had only come to the club at all to ensure everything went alright with Jasper's set and to see California Waiting.

When I returned, Bella's uniform blush transformed into patchy pieces of peach flesh which ran down her neck and sprawled out over her chest. I tried not to stare for too long, even though I really wanted to. She needed whiskey and asked if I worked there. I didn't feel like opening that door, and I was a natural evader.

I led her to my favorite spot in the building, tucked underneath the balcony but with a perfect view of the stage. I eyed the mirrored window of my office next to the left crow's nest and, for a moment, let my mind consider the possibility of getting Bella in there alone. I had already fought the attempt to reach out and touch her, and apart from pulling her in front of me to avoid the sweaty land mass of a man next to her, I thought I had myself fairly in check.

That was until California Waiting took the stage, and Bella completely transformed. She downed her whiskey and threw the empty cup haphazardly in the direction of the trash can. The crowd had surged forward, pressing me directly into her, and as if she didn't know how dangerously sexy she was, she leaned _into _me. I quickly righted myself and settled her forward, hoping she wasn't against me long enough to notice the literal twitch of my cock when she was that close.

She danced along and sang with complete and wild abandonment. My face kind of hurt from smiling so much, and although that was pretty lame, I couldn't be mad. It was a fresh sight; Bella had so much appreciation for the performance before her. Then I noticed her hips and lips in perfect synch with the music, her arms a metronome crafted of velvet skin keeping tempo. I lost track of time, focused on the sway of her body, my erection becoming painfully more prominent by the second, and it became increasingly difficult for me to keep my hands to myself.

I warned her and she turned into some sort of vixen and made a remark about gentlemen and tongue rings. I wanted to tell her I got it after I lost a bet, and it was much better than the barbell that adorned Emmett's eyebrow for six months.

_Making it exactly six months too long._

I didn't have time to tell said story because then my tongue was on her skin and she tasted like she smelled. All blackberries and honey with notes of mint; the mild flavor of an Altoid after the intensity wore off. I regrettably savored only the tips of thumb and a finger, needing desperately to dive into ankles, continuing to thighs and lips, stomach and chest, shoulders and neck to finish at lips again.

I argued with myself for what could have been minutes or hours after Bella turned back to face the stage. I needed to touch her again as soon as physically possible. I nixed the idea of asking her to blow off the rest of the show because surely that wasn't subtle. I didn't know how to express that while I thought she was divine, interesting, beautiful and I respected her, I wanted to simultaneously fuck her senseless.

My debate came to an abrupt end when I realized I _was _touching her again. My body vetoed my mind's arguments and I asked her to tell me to stop and she didn't. I was everywhere I wanted to be and it was perfection; utter perfection that I would never discredit, my fingers painting the picture my eyes were fucking dying to see. I didn't care who was around, confident our secret was being kept, not really concerned if it wasn't because I did fucking own the place. But my attention was on nothing but the woman in front of me and the way she felt wrapped around my fingers. Bella tensed, and I was positive my balls were navy, both jealous of her impending release and miraculously close to their own even without actual contact.

I told her to let go, and when she finally did, I tried so hard to silence everything around me and hear how she sounded. The music ended, and I felt the air opening up around us as the oblivious patrons made their way toward the exit.

She stayed and asked what was next. I could have stuck around the club to take care of some housekeeping things, but I knew I didn't have it in me to leave her side. She waited while I asked Tanya to close everything down, signing some inventory paperwork before turning and seeing Bella standing awkwardly with Emmett. It scared the shit out of me how instinctively protective I got seeing her near my brother, and my body couldn't carry me fast enough to them to cut off his probable sweet talk.

Then my sister was there, and she was wasted but knew Bella. I couldn't for the life of me decide how Alice would ever live down years of trying to set me up with friends but never once mentioning the magnificent creature next to me, shuffling her feet and looking both tipsy and uncomfortable with the situation unfolding around her. I felt the panic in her voice when she thought I had been lying to her about bartending, and while it wasn't how I planned telling Bella I owned 1918, her nonchalant reaction only captivated me more.

She glanced at me with her fucking Disney Princess eyes that could talk anyone off a ledge and told Jasper she'd find a way home. I promised him I'd get her there, careful not to specify _which_ home I was referring to. Of course it was Bella's decision, but I, not surprisingly, had a few plans if she would accept them. Most included her naked in a compromising position, my mouth, hands and cock never far from her body.

She gave me a mild panic attack after saying she didn't want coffee after all. She quickly amended herself, stating her preference for tea, before grabbing my hand and sliding to the furthest seat in the cab. I followed her in, and the driver looked at me, silently asking our destination.

"Spartan Diner on Rosemont, please," I said with a smile, and Bella glanced at me curiously out of the corner of her eye.

"I know that place," she started. "It's like four blocks away. Why don't we just walk?" She pulled the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth, and I reached over to pull it out with my thumb, stalling to rub the soft skin at her jaw. She didn't slap my hand away, and I took that as a good sign.

"Because it's November, and you don't have a fucking coat," I noted. She looked at me with a distinct glaze over the whites of her eyes, whether from the remnants of her buzz or orgasm I couldn't be sure. I didn't know how much she had to drink before I very literally ran into her, but I definitely knew she wasn't completely sober. I needed to take that into consideration before the creative plans I had for the rest of the evening were derailed.

"Oh," was all she said, her mouth making the perfect shape to accompany her reply.

Bella's tiny hand reached out and touched my fingers resting between us on the leather, running a short nail up and down the length of them. She looked up to meet my eyes and offered a timid grin. I would have paid to know what she was thinking. I looked back down at our hands and took hers in mine, letting them rest lazily on the seat next to us.

"Sure thing," the cabbie replied in a thick accent. He caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and opened his mouth to speak.

_Great. A chatter._

"Beautiful couple," he said, motioning between Bella and myself in the reflection. I was half tempted to tell him to mind his own fucking business and watch the damn road. If his vehicular negligence kept up, I didn't know if we actually _would _make it the four blocks to our destination. "Where did you meet?"

"Church," I stated simply, hoping the answer would satisfy him and he would close the conversation.

Bella giggled next to me, and I was almost certain she snorted. She looked mortified as I peeked at her, so I decided not to mention it, even if it was kind of fucking cute.

"That's nice," the driver offered.

"Yes. It was definitely a religious experience."

It was my turn to hold back the laughter threatening to erupt from me after Bella's response. She winked so fast I could have missed it, but didn't since it was apparent I paid far closer attention to Bella's every miniscule movement than anyone ever. The fact that she played along turned me on more than it rightfully should, and my mind was invaded with Bonnie and Clyde fantasies which I was kind of fucking shocked I was capable of. I knew we were talking about what had happened in the crowd not an hour before, but the vocabulary we were using was dangerously inappropriate and equally sexy. I shifted awkwardly in my seat, hoping I could mask the leading contender for world's longest lasting hard on.

I focused on the back of the driver's bald head and the sporadic gray hairs poking out of his ears. It was fucking gross, but it worked for the time being in aiding my current condition_._ We pulled up to the diner, and I realized Bella and the cabbie had been keeping up a conversation for the past few blocks while my mind was elsewhere. I grabbed my wallet to get fare for the ride, and the man held up his hand in protest.

"No charge for you. Such a lovely woman," he said. I would have wanted to punch the shit out of him for talking about Bella if he wasn't nine hundred years old. I couldn't locate the root of my unnecessary jealousy towards a man with more hair in his ears than on his head, but I let that shit slide because no one likes the dude who punches antiques. I had a feeling this happened to Bella a lot. People were inexplicably drawn to her; she probably didn't notice it, but her originality left a mark on them which would last much longer than their initial encounter.

I got out of the taxi, trying to be a gentleman and walk around to open Bella's door for her, but she was already sliding across the leather to the other side. Her little arm dangled in the small opening to the front seat as she shook the drivers hand and offered him thanks. I met her back on the curb, and raced to make sure I could at least open the door to the restaurant for her. My mom would have kicked my ass if I didn't at least attempt to be proper. I couldn't imagine Esme being too keen on my fingering perfect girls in public venues, but I was taking interpretable liberties with the repeated mantra toward her three children: _Whatever makes you happy. _

I followed Bella in, all but drooling at the view of her from behind. She turned back and caught me staring, the side of her lollipop mouth lifting slightly. I shifted my gaze to the red and white tiles moving under my feet and followed her until she maneuvered into a booth near the back of the relatively small space. I sat across from her, reaching behind the salt and pepper shakers to hand her a menu.

I heard the smacking gum before I saw our waitress approach, a bottled blonde in her twenties with a too-tight top and a nametag in the shape of an old model Cadillac that read "Lauren." The scent of Baby Powder and Bazooka assaulted my blackberry and honey spoiled nostrils, and I coughed over my shoulder to cleanse my airwaves as Lauren parked in front of our table, her eyes buried deep into the server notepad in front of her face. When she finally did look up, she practically eye fucked me, and it made me kind of nauseated. Not that I would have given her the time of day anyway, but it pissed me off that Bella was sitting directly across from me and forced to watched the disgusting display unfolding in our corner booth.

"Something to drink for you?" Lauren asked sweetly, and I assumed she was addressing the both of us even though I could feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head as she stared at me, and I stared at Bella who was staring at Lauren.

I ordered black coffee.

"Hot tea with lemon, please," Bella said, her eyes fixed on the profile of Lauren's overly made-up face. I peeked quickly, and sure enough she was still focused on me, running her pen suggestively along her thin lips.

_Was this girl for fucking real?_

Lauren attempted to sexily strut away from our table, and after a few moments, Bella exploded into a laughing fit. She was visibly gulping for air, and the sound of her giggle was so genuine and infectious_,_ I found myself chuckling along with her. She waved her hand in front of her face, signaling her attempt to stop, but she couldn't seem to maintain it.

"I'm so sorry. Whiskey makes me laugh an obnoxious amount," she admitted. I nodded because I didn't mind it. Like most things Bella, it was cute as hell.

"Did that just happen?" she asked, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "Fuck. It must suck to be so fucking pretty, Edward," she winked.

Yeah, I noticed that Bella said "fuck" …twice. My dick shifted achingly and begged to know what it would take to make her say it again.

Before I could respond to her accusations, Lauren returned with our drinks. She had obviously undone one of her shirt buttons while in the back. My second hand embarrassment for the girl was growing to epic proportions as I watched her set the saucers on the table, shifting her tits in my direction. Bella rolled her eyes at the blatant shit show.

"Anything else I can get for you?" Lauren asked, her voice about two octaves lower than it was when she had initially taken our order. I brought my cup to my mouth, offering Bella a quick smile before I took a large gulp to avoid answering.

Bella extended her arm in Lauren's direction, a ten dollar bill between her middle and pointer fingers. She cocked an impressive brow while looking up at the server. "No, Lauren, I think we're just dandy. But you can take this," Bella said sweetly while Lauren glared at her, annoyed. "And keep the change. Thanks for your help."

I choked on my coffee when I noticed Lauren gaping at Bella, both of them in some unspoken bitch battle. Part of me thought I should have felt awkward being at the center of it, but seeing Bella kill the bubble gum girl with kindness was pretty hot.

"You're kind of a spitfuck. You know that, right?" I asked after Lauren stomped off, the _clomp clomp clomp _of her non suitable server shoes finally fading into the existing white noise of the establishment.

Bella flicked the blue packet of sweetener in front of her before tearing off an edge and pouring it into her cup. "You just caught me on a feisty night, I guess," she shrugged, dropping the lemon into the concoction. She took a sip and her lips puckered. I reached for another blue packet and handed it to her, both of our hands lingering for a beat longer than necessary. Her blush was back.

"Thank you," she said before adding the sweetener. She stirred the mixture slowly, taking another sip, a satisfied smile on her face. She flexed her spoon against the floating bag in her mug, the tea seeping through needle head holes, water transforming to a murky greenish brown. "So," Bella said, a playful edge to her tone. "What's your fucking story, Edward?"

-----

Time no longer moved in minutes or hours, but lemon wedges and blue packets. A half carafe of coffee sat to my right on the eerily reflective black tabletop. An older woman named Grace who had a smoker's voice and an appealing air of non-sluttiness saved us from a repeat encounter with Lauren, stopping by to refresh our drinks every two lemon wedges or so. Bella ripped tiny strips into her paper napkin, and occasionally dug her fingers in the holes of the worn nylon booth, sporadically pulling out flakes of yellow spongy material.

I couldn't tell you Bella's birthday. I didn't know her best friend's name or how long she had lived in the city. I did know she loved those sour gummy candies in the shapes of babies or some shit but she only ate the red and green ones. I knew she had two goldfish named Franny and Zooey who were killed when Bella decided they looked tired of swimming and tucked them into her bed for a nap. I knew the first concert she ever went to was The Beach Boys with her dad when she was ten, and the first album she bought with her own money was _What's the Story Morning Glory_.

She hated romantic comedies and Hugh Grant by association. She had a strange addiction to the smell of library books, and owned an impressive collection of zombie movies. She cut all of her hair off after seeing _À bout de soufflé_ as a personal ode to Jean Seberg, but she said it made her head look big and her face crooked. I would have paid good money to see it, because although I was mesmerized on an already regular basis by the reddish brown locks that hung around her flawless face, I doubted Bella could ever look any less than effortlessly breathtaking. And chicks with short hair were fucking sexy.

I found myself irrationally jealous of the characters in her anecdotes. Those who knew Bella before I was aware she even existed. It seemed unfair to be withheld from such an alluring woman for twenty-eight years. I tried not to be obvious, hanging on every word that left her lips…but I hung on every word that left her lips.

She got fidgety and uncomfortable when she talked for an extended period of time, and I chimed in to soothe her anxieties. In my honest opinion, I was nowhere near as interesting as Bella, yet she listened intently and asked questions, a kissable grin twitching at the edge of her mouth when I said something remotely entertaining.

She didn't ask about 1918, and I was thankful. It wasn't like I was concealing information only a handful were privy to; there were just far more interesting topics to discuss. Bella mentioned she wanted to learn Italian, and I told her about my creepy Uncle Aro from New Jersey who would probably be more than willing to teach her, only after offering her a wine cooler and touching her inappropriately at one of my family functions. I shared stories about Alice, Emmett and I, our summers at the lake, holidays and separating for college. Bella's smile was exceptionally stunning when I discussed my family, and I wondered if it was because she was an only child with divorced parents, a fact I picked up on during our conversation. I couldn't imagine how many shades of fucked up Bella's perceptions of relationships must have been, having lived through the demise of the one very closest to her.

We were in the middle of a rousing debate over which was more awesome: Thundercats or Transformers, and I was fucking positive my inner geek had manifested Bella completely. She was unintentionally able to give me the most rock hard wood of my life and simultaneously spout off on cartoons from my childhood, mentioning she dressed up as Cheetara once for Halloween. She shrugged like it was no big deal, and I was positive my dick wept a tear from the utter perfection that surrounded her confession.

_Please God tell me she still has the costume. _

Bella and I seemed to tune in to the scene around us at the same moment, the quiet diner we had entered becoming a zoo of drunken patrons. Five men past their frat boy prime with over-gelled hair and popped collars were crammed into a booth a few feet away from us, and a group of women in disco ball sparkly tops entered the restaurant, their heeled shoes loosely hung over their thumbs.

I turned back to Bella, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Did you want to…" I fumbled, because I didn't know what limits I was pushing, not wanting our evening to end, but also not knowing if she would find it presumptuous to invite her back to my place. When I had reverted back to the state of an awkward high school boy about to ask his prom date if he could feel her up was beyond me.

"Yes," Bella finished. I couldn't hide the grin that followed, and I felt its effects through my entire body. Including my cock, which _shockingly _was at rapt attention once again. Fuck.

She gnawed on her lip, and if I wasn't across the booth, I would have pulled it out again. It was my new mission to bite that lip myself before she had the next chance.

"So, do I have to sweet talk more cabbies, or can we walk to your place from here?" she asked, and it was as if the heavens aligned, a ray of light shining down on me, blinding me and forcing me to appreciate what a lucky fuck I was in that very moment.

"Cab," I managed, too intoxicated by her very presence to even attempt a witty retort.

Bella yawned and pulled at the back of her hair. My eyes zoned in on her stretching, her tits basically working some freaky voodoo magic on my mind, and I licked my lips on instinct. She grinned at me when I looked up, and I knew for a split second Bella knew _exactly _how seductive she was in that corner booth of the diner.

She stretched an elastic hair holder thingy over her hand before capturing the strands I was dying to bury my hands in at the back of her head. I almost moaned.

She stood first, and I scooted out behind her, immediately noticing the drunk fucks a few seats away nudging each other to look in our direction. Bella had done it again, demanded attention without the foggiest idea, and I walked behind her, shooting the table a look and hoping my "If you keep staring, I'll cut off your cock" glare was thoroughly fucking understood.

We left the restaurant and were immersed in the chilly air, the city street a buzz with after party seekers, delivery boys and police officers. Bella yawned again.

"Hey, are you tired? We don't have to…"

"No. I'm fine. I just had um, kind of a late night last night. I guess it's catching up with me." I didn't want to pry, but my gut had a moment of sickening envy thinking Bella meant she was up late with some other guy. Not that I had reason to be mad, but anyone else with her made me want to vomit. Or punch something.

I hailed a cab and thanked my lucky stars the driver was a woman. We rode in silence the few blocks to my apartment, and while there was no sound, the air was magnetic with the potential of touching Bella again.

When we arrived at my building and I helped her out of the car, time began to move achingly slow. I held the door for her and we headed toward the elevator, the lobby quiet aside from the sound of the night security guard watching a rerun of Roseanne on the small TV at his desk.

The elevator doors opened like the fucking gates to Oz or some shit, my mind racing a million miles a minute attempting to figure out when it was appropriate to reach out to her, to reestablish the physical connection I was desperate for.

The fifteenth floor felt light years away, and the elevator shaft lifted us inch by inch to our final destination. I stepped into the hallway and noticed Bella was stalling, a perfect time for me to fucking panic and worry she thought she had made a terrible mistake.

"Edward?" she asked, and fuck me my name in her voice sounded like the best guitar solo of the finest ballad. I cocked my head to the side and held the door, preventing its closure.

"Will you kiss me now?" It was such an innocent request but shot waves of desire through my limbs, staring at beautiful, addictive, intelligent Bella in surprise. Any other woman making such a blatant move may have bothered me, but she looked at me with her brown pools of perfection and I knew, in that moment,I would never be able to deny her anything.

She sucked that fucking lip back into her mouth, and I reached out, pulling her from the elevator just as the alarm started to sound from having held the doors open for longer than necessary. She looked jostled and stared at me, searching for something, and I hadn't realized I had just been gaping at her, neither confirming nor denying her proposition.

I licked my lips, the sphere of my tongue ring gliding along the surface, and I brought my pointer finger to her satin skin, brushing her jaw and applying pressure to her bottom lip. I tugged on it lightly, and she watched me with a furrowed brow.

"Stop biting this. It's making me jealous," I said. And I knew it sounded fucking lame and was a page right from the romantic fluff Bella hated so much. But...it happened. Magic. My mouth covered hers, and it was an overload of every sense I had, and then some I didn't know existed. Touching her at the venue was primal … insistent even, desire and desperation taking the wheel in my actions. And although it was incredible, I couldn't fathom anything being as definitive of a Utopia as the simple act of kissing Bella.

I cupped the side of her face, and she ran her nails along the back of my neck as our mouths worked in perfect synchronization. It wasn't the first kiss of a novice, it was the first kiss which led by example, none other able to match its euphoria.

I thought of Shakespeare and all his fucking sonnets and once again swore a silent apology for having ever doubted his words. Bella's hands were around my neck then, and she began walking backwards down the hall, taking me with her. She came to a stop along a wall and made a half moan sound I knew would play in a loop anytime I came for the rest of my known life. She wrapped her leg around my back, and I couldn't even pay attention to the fact we were in the hallway, susceptible to anyone opening their door and sabotaging that moment. I grabbed her other leg, and she jumped slightly to lock them around my waist, and fuck me, she released one of her hands from my neck and grabbed the collar of my shirt, fisting the material with her fingers.

Bella tasted like her skin but more intense. It was overwhelming, her flavor. I noticed a hint of whiskey-like spice that reminded me she had been drinking earlier. She seemed willing to participate in our endeavors, but I had to remind myself not to be the asshole who justified himself by claiming the girl didn't seem "that drunk."

I broke the kiss, fucking positive there were four button-shaped imprints on my strained dick. I rested my head in the curve of her neck, running my hands over her back, still holding her to the wall. She breathed heavily in my ear, desperately attempting to writhe against me, and I may or may not have growled. She mewed, and I strained my neck back to look at her.

If things kept going as they were, I would without a doubt, be the not so proud owner of a sizeable spunk stain on my jeans, seeing as I had an almost constant erection since I met her hours ago. I gazed at Bella, her eyes hooded and her lips in an involuntary pout, and being so close to her only made me think of what that pout would look like wrapped around my cock. I shook my head quickly to extinguish the thought, not because I didn't want to imagine such glory but because I literally couldn't without assisting to the previously mentioned jizz in my pants scenario.

"Bella."

"Mmm?" Jesus fuck she needed to not make noises like that.

"While I would very much like to fuck you in this hallway, I think it may be safer if we went inside, yeah?" I raised a brow at her as her eyes opened fully and she looked around the hallway with suspicion.

"Sorry."

I chuckled. "Don't you ever fucking apologize for doing what you just did, Bella. I meant it earlier. It's just… it's…"

"Too much," she finished and released a dramatic breath, wrapping me in her scent mixed with a bit of me. It was dually fucking noted that it wasn't the first time she had finished my thoughts that evening.

She let go of me, and the brush of her leg over my hard-on literally made me wince. I should have gotten a fucking medal for my restraint.

I took her hand and kissed her palm before leading her down the hallway to my apartment. I didn't want her to start freaking out and getting anxious that I didn't want her or some shit because I cut off the kiss. I knew girls like that. I knew Bella was probably different, but I still wanted to assure her. She should have known how badly I wanted her since our exchange at the show.

When we got inside, I flipped on the light, hanging my keys on the hook by the front door. I looked back at Bella, and she was in a sort of trance, staring past me; I couldn't figure out what she was gawking at.

She walked slowly toward the back wall of my open living room, gazing at the collection of vinyl adorning the walls from floor to almost-ceiling. If it had been anyone else, I would have told them to not get that close to my shit, but Bella was eyeing the hundreds of records with such…reverence that I couldn't do anything but look at her looking at my music.

I knew from our conversation at the diner she was a music journalist, which added to the probability that the woman in my apartment was nothing but a flawless figment of my imagination. Watching her hand ghost the albums was amazing. The thought that anyone, especially someone so captivating, could share my passion for the notes and words I admired made me disgustingly happy. She looked back at me in question and gestured to the wall.

"How are these organized?" she asked.

I cleared my throat, wondering if once I outed my musical neurosis she would be gone before I could attempt to stop her. "Um, chronologically and then," I paused. "Autobiographically."

She beamed at me and my entire body relaxed. "How very Rob Gordon of you, Edward."

I got the reference immediately, and she was pretty spot on. I scratched the back of my neck and suddenly felt overwhelmingly exposed. She didn't run.

She continued her path along the wall, hovering over one section before peeking over her shoulder at me. "Do you mind?" she asked, pointing to one of the records indicating she wanted to remove it from the stacks.

I gestured my approval, and as soon as the line of the cover came into my sight, my breath caught in my throat.

_For the love of all that is Pete Fucking Townsend._

Of all the albums on the wall, of all the words written on my soul, Bella had selected the very one that's former meaning was now eclipsed by my initial reaction to feeling her.

_The Who. _

"Can we put it on?" she asked.

There was no way in hell I would have been able to find words in that instant. Instead, I walked over to her, tugged the vinyl from her grasp, snuck a whiff of her to make the moment real, and put the needle to the record.

The opening notes gave me chills, and I couldn't recall a more intense moment of clarity in my life. The runner up was, not surprisingly, from that night as well, and all involved Bella. It was fucking terrifying.

"Do you want a drink? Water maybe? Whiskey spawns a nasty hangover, Bella," I joked, speaking into her hair, as she turned to sit on the overstuffed couch facing the turntable. All jesting aside, hangovers fucking sucked, and I was just trying to prevent the probable onset of hers.

"Sure," she yawned.

I walked to the kitchen, realizing most of my dishes were dirty, which was out of character for me. But I had spent a lot of time at work this week, and didn't anticipate having guests. Guests sounded wrong, but I couldn't find a word that effectively defined the feeling of having Bella in my home.

I turned on the hot water, dabbing some soap on a sponge and began rinsing out a glass. The music still flowed through the speakers in the living room, scratches of the worn vinyl only enhancing the sound.

After a few minutes, the glass was clean enough for my borderline compulsive cleaning standards, and I called out to Bella.

"Ice?"

Silence.

I spun around, wondering if finally her mirage of majesty vanished in thin air, but I was met with a much different sight.

Bella curled up, looking more tempting than anyone ever should in her current state, sleeping soundly on my couch. I had to laugh, because it just added to the backwards chronology of our evening. Started with a steamy rendezvous, followed by the get-to-know-yous, a goodnight kiss before the night itself was over, all wrapped up with a passing out before I even got her to the bedroom.

I was almost thankful . Well, in truth, _I _was thankful. My cock was swearing at me in ten different languages, all of which the only translatable word was "Bella." And it wasn't like I could rub one out with her in my house, because aside from the fact that it was fucking creepy; having an orgasm by my own hand while Bella was so close would be like ordering tofu from the best steakhouse in Chicago. Shitty analogy. But it helped calm the divining rod down.

I walked over to her, stalling to take in her exquisite form, noting the curves and slopes of her calling out to me. I slid one hand under her legs and the other behind her shoulder and carried her back to my bedroom. I set her down gently on the duvet, and she stirred. I freaked out and thought I woke her, wondering how traumatizing it would be for Bella to wake up and see me lurking over her. I pulled the opposite side of the cover over her sleeping form, and closed the door, offering one last glance before I walked back to the living room.

I could have sworn I heard my name.

I turned off the kitchen light, restarted the album on the player and grabbed a blanket off the arm chair. I climbed onto the couch and covered myself; the blanket was too short, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink with Bella so close but so far from me.

The opening chords of Teenage Wasteland were the last thing I heard before I was wrapped in darkness, blackberries and honey.

------

I tossed and turned and tried to reach for the lamp on my bedside table, desperate to rid the amber glow that was burning my eyelids. My arm flung and only found air, and I shot straight up, effectively knocking my entire body off the couch.

_Bella._

I felt my stomach drop as I walked down the hallway. Something was off, but I couldn't pinpoint it. My door was still cracked. I poked my head in, met with an empty bed, hospital corners intact.

_What the fuck?_

I glanced at the bedside table. No note. I paced out to my kitchen counter. Nothing. I tore through my entire apartment, dissecting every surface for any possible proof Bella had in fact been here just a few short hours ago. I eyed the clock in my bathroom.

_7:28_.

I really fucking wished the still sleeping part of my brain would catch up to the panic my wakened state was experiencing. Where was she? Was she ever actually here?

I stormed back into my bedroom, fussing with the covers, as if Bella could have been lying underneath them like a child secretly hiding from their scolding parents.

Nothing.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sat down on the bed. I wanted to grab my phone and call her. Which would have been a lot fucking easier had she left me her number.

_She regretted it all. _

The guilt started working its way up in the form of bile stewing in my stomach. I made an awful coughing- choke noise and mentally lectured myself to get a fucking grip. What right did I have to be going insane over this? None.

_Alice._

I was still thinking in fragments, not alert enough to comprehend the full amount of possibilities to explain Bella's absence. I turned to pull my phone out of my back pocket after having slept on it for a few hours, and something caught my eye.

_Exhibit A: Elastic Hair Thingy. She was here. _

A sudden calm washed over me as I picked up the tangible tie to her existence, slipping it around my wrist. Just because I had this piece of her and knew she was real; it didn't mean she wanted me.

As it would seem, I was quite the whiny bitch in the morning.

My eyes darted between the elastic and my cell phone, contemplating calling Alice. I knew my sister really well, and the odds were stacked against me as far as her empathy was concerned. She would more than likely assume I fucked up somehow with Bella, and granted even though that was my current train of thought, I wasn't really in the mood to hear it from someone else.

I don't know how long I sat there before my phone started vibrating in my hands, and I looked down to see Alice's name flash across the screen. I shouldn't have been surprised she was calling to check up on me; Jasper probably told her once she was sober that Bella and I left together the previous night.

I hit ignore and decided to turn my phone off altogether, knowing there was no point in answering calls from everyone, save the one person I actually wanted to hear from.

I replayed the night over and over in my mind, equally thankful for having known it actually happened and infuriated that I had messed it up somewhere along the line. I was being emo as shit, but I couldn't find a reason to give a damn. There was no rational explanation for my investment in Bella after only a matter of hours, but I knew if nothing else, Billy Shakes was at least on my side.

I had caught a glimpse of the connections he composed, and for that I was thankful. I could at least live knowing those promised versions of instant attraction existed. The moments when everything aligned and made perfection seem plausible.

At some point I ended up back in the living room, Bella's scent nearly gone as I lay on the couch, flipping aimlessly through the channels, stopping only on programs that would numb the analysis overtaking my brain.

At dusk I was hungry, but didn't have it in me to cook a meal. The mindless banter of an MTV reality show hummed in the background as I turned my phone back on to call in for takeout.

**7 missed calls. 3 voicemails.**

Alice was nothing if not thorough. I held down the voicemail button on the keypad and listened to her recording.

"Edward. It's me. Call me."

_Delete._

"Edward if you don't call me back I'm telling Jasper about the time you said you thought Taylor Hanson would make a hot girl."

I would have laughed.

_Delete._

"Um, hey…um… Edward,"

_She speaks._

I stood up as if she had entered the room.

"It's Bella. Listen… I'm..um…I'm really sorry. I panicked. I know that sounds terrible, and you probably don't fucking care, and you're wondering why I called you at all. But listen, Alice gave me your number. I'm sorry. I at least had to apologize. I fucked up. It's not the first time." She laughed, but it wasn't from humor, something was lurking behind it. "And I know it won't be the last but…yeah. I feel terrible about leaving. I'm at work, and I'm sorry, and if you want to…call me. Or text me. Text me because I'm at work. Um, I'm at work until nine. Maybe we could…hangout. Fuck, that sounds lame. Is there a time limit on voicemails? Anyway. If you're in, I'm in…And yeah. Edward. I'm really fucking sorry. "

She was awkward and adorable, and fuck you Jerry McGuire, she had me at "Um."

I saved the message and fumbled with the key pad, typing the only text I was ever remotely excited to send.

**Im. In.**

* * *

**Hand in Glove is like my little pop culture casserole. I sneak all kinds of fun little nuggets in there. **

**Ilsuocantante made a Twi thread for HiG because I give her all the red and green Sour Patch Kids. Come play and I'll wear my Cheetara costume. Link is in my profile. **

**So you're all: "Windy... you are a cockblock of an infinite magnitude."**

**And I'm like : **gigglesnort** IKR?!**

**Good news? These kids will be around for a bit if you'll have them. And since I have somewhat of an idea where they're headed... you wont have to wait three months for an update. **

**I can't even BEGIN to thank you all for your kind words... the response to Chapter 1 was beyond anything I ever imagined. Thank you doesn't suit your crazy amounts of fuckawesome, but it's all I've got.**

**I hope you all stick around to see what's in store. If you don't...that's cool... but go spend your time reading something awesome like Bella Swan: Zombie Killer by Kristen Nicole or La canzone della Bella Cigna by philadelphic.**

**And lastly...**

**The million dollar question...**

**Thundercats or Transformers?**


	3. Girl Afraid

**I'm buying you all a shot. You are fucking awesome. More about how awesome you are at the bottom.**

**Disclaimer: S. Meyer's vamps bring all the girls to the yard. **

In seventh grade, I went to a sleepover at Kristen Cope's house. It was less because Kristen and I were actually friends and more in consideration of the fact that my podunk town had a school the size of a shoebox and all ten girls in our class were invited by obligation. I had no interest in going and stashed the invite in the depths of my patch-ridden Jansport. Then my nosy mother found it and gave some spiel about getting "socialized." She forced me to attend. I never really forgave her for it… or anything else, for that matter.

I didn't remember much from that night, aside from the fact that Kristen's house smelled like soup and her mom had a closet full of themed sweater vests I found on accident while looking for the bathroom. After eating our preteen weight in sweets and snacks, we gathered in some séance circle for a few rounds of Light as a Feather Stiff as whateverthefuck. Even then I knew it was all social climbing bullshit, and ended up falling asleep to the whispered tales of Stacey getting felt up on the bus ride back from the field trip to the Planetarium.

Before that moment, I'd never been enlightened as to the ritual hazing of the first sleeper. My ignorance resulted in waking to find my overnight bag ransacked, my bra transformed into a AAA icicle, and whipped cream smeared down the front of my blanket.

Kristen Cope's sleepover taught me two important lessons:  
One: Never fall asleep first.  
Two: Warm whipped cream fucking reeks.

Eighth grade me blushed a million reds at twenty-five year old me's consideration of whipped cream possibilities in Edward's company. I was really stoked he didn't freeze my bra, though I wouldn't have minded him taking it off.

But that would never happen. Because I, Bella Swan, was a stupid fucking idiot who was stupid. And an idiot.

I was in his bed. His perfect, marshmallowy, Page 89 Pottery Barn bed. It smelled like cinnamon and man. Fresh and spicy. Was there a way to take pictures of smells? A scented snapshot? That's what I did that morning, melting into his blankets, his pillow. I basked. Then I fucking panicked.

I remembered the hallway. Oh, fuck me, did I remember the hallway. I spent the next five minutes remembering the hallway. I remembered seeing his apartment. The records on the wall. I picked a record. He played the record. Then I slipped away.

Of all the nights in my life I'd spent not going to sleep until the sun woke, why, _why_ in the name of all that is beautiful and nose-ringed and perfect, did I have to sleep _that_ night?

Fuck you, Johnny Walker. Fuck you and Jack Daniels, too.

To say I had a headache would have been a horrible understatement. There was an army of gnomes playing whack-a-mole on my brain… with steel hammers. My mouth felt fuzzy, and that was wrong on so many fucking levels beyond my comprehension. I had to get out of there. As hard as it was, with the marshmallow bed and cinnamon, I had to leave.

Maybe I should have left a note. Thanked him for a good night. But that seemed contrived and stupid, and for some reason the word "good" wasn't enough. Great wasn't enough. Perfect wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. The night with Edward—that was enough.

My mind was fucked. It made perfect sense to me; if I left without a word, we could both go our separate ways and just let the night be what it was: perfectly timed perfection. Nothing more, nothing less. No pressure and no disappointment.

Disappearance versus disappointment.

I couldn't stand another disappointment. Not like the others. Mostly, I didn't want to be the disappointment. Not with him.

Disappearance won.

The couch was half his size, but he slept on it anyway. The sunlight through the curtains did crazy things to his hair. It took everything I had to not stop and touch him again. But disappearance won.

_Back to reality._

Stepping into the frigid dawn, I took a look back at his building. It was a new kind of disappointment.

I smoothed the fabric of my wrinkled top and flattened my wild hair. This was a walk of pride, not shame.

And I made that walk of pride my bitch.

**-((-))-**

I didn't want to sit in my apartment anymore. After I got home, I spent two hours burning toast and overanalyzing my disappearance versus disappointment theory.

Turned out, after years of apathy, I was really good at over analysis. Or bad. Whichever was worse, and left that anxiety lump in my stomach.

On the upside, in those two hours I managed to find almost three dollars in change and four takeout menus pressed between my couch cushions.

I used the change to buy two cups of coffee on the way to work. One of which I finished on the walk there.

Jake gave me the side eye when I arrived thirty minutes early. I gave him the finger.

"Bad night?" He smirked, refilling the CD deck by the office.

"What about the finger didn't you understand, Jake?" I glanced at the music in his hands. No fucking way was I being subjected to that garbage all day long. "Veto," I said flatly, pointing to the stack.

He didn't have bad taste in the slightest, but lately it was nothing but wacky fantasy metal and dubstep. He wasn't usually around enough for it to completely piss me off, but it wasn't the day to try. I think he sensed that.

Jake huffed. "Fine. Split." So we did. He got his _Night Fire Corpse of Cannibal Ashes in October _or whatever the fuck it was, and I got some semblance of sanity for three albums' lengths.

Neither of us heard Alice arrive a few hours later. I was concentrating far more than necessary on making new overhead signs for music sections, while Jake was busy with pre-orders. Work was a nice distraction.

"Let's go," was all she said. And it scared the shit out of me. It didn't startle me, it scared me. I knew what this was about.

"Oh, hey, Alice," I said, not even the slightest bit naturally. "I'm actually a bit busy, but if you wanted to maybe come back later..." I was not ready to have this conversation.

"Bullshit. They have to give you a break. You're the boss, you give you a break." Her voice was coated in sleep, and I took in her appearance for the first time. She wore the same hat she'd stolen from Jasper the night before paired with an oversized Ramones t-shirt I assumed she borrowed as well. She was a walking hangover: ratty sweater, Olsen Twin sunglasses, leggings and furry boots. Not her finest moment. If Alice left her apartment looking like _that_, without consequence, I knew I wasn't getting out of this.

"Be back, Jake," I called to him across the store. He offered a grunt and dismissive wave.

Alice cringed and rubbed her temples. "Stop making your words so loud. Fuck."

We walked wordlessly up the street to the bistro on the corner, our silent agreement. We didn't speak when we were seated. We didn't speak when the waiter arrived. I was staring into the murky red of Alice's half-empty Bloody Mary when her voice finally shook me from my daze.

"So," she started, swirling a piece of celery around in the crimson liquid.

"So," I echoed.

"Out with it."

I sighed. Like a fucking lame ass. I just sighed. Where was I supposed to start with this?

"It's complicated." I was officially one Shins-ridden soundtrack short of a teen drama.

"No, it's not." Alice's low bullshit tolerance was one of the things I liked most about her.

"I don't know what you know."

"I know you left with my brother last night. I know he isn't answering his phone today. I know one of you better fucking fill me in—spare the details I want nothing to do with—so I can figure out what's going on."

"Nothing is going on. I had fun with Edward last night." _Fun._ That was a cheap substitute.

_Don't think about his mouth. His hands. His voice. Don't think about it._  
I was thinking of nothing _but _it. All of it.

"And?"

"And nothing. It was what it was, and now it's done."

"Why?" She waved to the waiter and pointed to her drink. Refill.

"Because, it's easier this way."

"For who?"

"Me."

"Well, that's a bit selfish, isn't it?" _Yep._

"I'm just trying to figure some things out right now."

Alice finally removed her sunglasses, after being indoors for nearly ten minutes. She rolled her eyes. "Like your career? Yourself? It's not you, it's me type shit, right? Cop out."

"That's not what I meant. I just don't want to be let down again."

"First off, fuck you, because that's my brother you're talking about." She smiled for the first time. "Secondly, maybe this is good. Why won't you let yourself find out if this could be good? I don't want to push it, I just want to know."

"Maybe." The waiter shoved my sandwich in front of me. Alice squirted globs of ketchup onto her plate. The mass of thoughts flying through my mind made it impossible to identify a single one.

"Maybe stop thinking so hard."

I laughed, genuinely. It felt really good. She smiled and popped a french fry into her mouth.

"All I'm saying is this, Bella. You've had a shitty hand. And you don't deserve it. I wouldn't have dragged my ass out of the house looking and feeling like this if you went home with Mike last night. Well, maybe I would have, but only to punch you in the mouth for being an idiot."

The name did nothing. There was nothing there. I don't think there ever was.

"But," she said, adjusting the glasses on her head, "at the risk of sounding cliché, you won't know until you try. As your friend, I won't push this. It's not my business. But as his sister, he's a great guy, and he deserves better than being walked out on."

I hadn't told her I left without a word. "But, I…"

"I know these things. I know you. And I think you should say 'fuck it' and just jump. Just once."

"Thanks, Alice." She made far too much sense, and my thoughts multiplied to scenarios. How I could fix this mess I created myself. This manifestation of bullshit disappointment I had no grounds to identify other than just being a girl afraid of liking a boy.

How fucking pathetic. Alice was right. I deserved a shot, and Edward deserved an explanation.

"In other news, let's talk about how I'm pretty sure I vomited in one of Jasper's cowboy boots last night."

And that's how the rest of our lunch went. Light. Easy. Fun. And mixed in with the laughs between friends, I silenced the mess in my mind and decided on one thing.

_I would fucking fix this._

**((-))**

At 3:30, I was still staring at the numbers on the napkin. The ink was bleeding, an inconvenient ticking time bomb. If I didn't act soon, there would be nothing but seven blotches of misshapen blue.

Alice gave me Edward's number. Without hope or condition, she folded it into my hand on her Bloody Mary-stained coaster. It was up to me now.

At 4:15, I dialed five numbers.

At 4:18 I went to the office and practiced our conversation in a pocket mirror. I had wicked bags under my eyes. Two nights had passed without two nights' worth of sleep.

I would call at 4:37. I wrote out a voicemail on a post-it, in case he didn't answer.

He didn't answer at 4:37 and I didn't follow the script in the slightest. I was rambling and I knew it. Extended my vowels, made every word stretch, and I was positive none of it made any fucking sense. I wondered how many times I'd said "um."

The store was fairly busy. People bustled in and out, knocking into each other with shopping bags hanging off their hands. The problem with steady business was whenever the door chimed their welcome, or a random cell phone went off, I frantically patted down my pockets assuming it was mine.

It wasn't. And I dropped my phone twice because of the false alarms. Once on Jake's foot.

I needed to not think about it. I needed to wait it out. I alphabetized albums to concentrate on something mundane and not what he was doing, if he had gotten my message, or if it was floating in some wireless black hole where all awkward pathetic apology voicemails go to die. To save the sender from horrible humiliation.

_Badly Drawn Boy before Bat for Lashes. Bikini Kill after Belle and Sebastian. Baha…_  
"What the fuck is this?" I pinched the offending album between my thumb and pointer finger in Jake's direction. He remained bent over, nose deep in the latest issue of GQ.

"Jake, I said what _is _this?"

Silence.

"JAKE!" He shot up, knocking over the stack of papers next to him, rainbow confetti fluttering around the cash wrap. Glaring at me through his floppy black hair, his jaw tensed, distinct cheekbones caving in as he ground his teeth.

"What is _what_, Bella?" he spat.

"This!" I shouted, waving the case at arm's length.

"It's a fucking CD. Do you know where you are right now?"

"This is not a CD. This is a _Baha Men _CD. Why do we have a Baha Men CD, Jake?"

"Because someone might want to buy it."

"I don't think I want to work in the type of establishment where that is a possibility," I said seriously. He picked up the flyers one by one. Green. Pink. Yellow. Orange. Back to green.

"Then don't. What's your deal today? You're starting to piss me off. Go home."

"What?" He couldn't have been serious.

"I know what I said, because I said it. Go home, Bella. Decompress. Come back tomorrow. Sans the PM…" he started.

"I assure you, if you finish that fucking sentence, this CD will be so far up your ass you'll be _letting the dogs out_ through your nostrils."

"Oooh, a Baha Men fan reveals herself." Jake walked into the office and reappeared with my coat and bag. "Seriously, just chill out. Please. Have a beer. Get some sleep. I'll see you later."

I didn't have the energy to argue. Instead, I gathered my things and left with a small wave. Halfway down the block I heard a phone ring. I glanced across the street. No one.

_Holy shit it's mine._

I steadied myself on a streetlight post after almost slipping on a patch of black November ice.  
**I'm. in.**

Two words and I was floating, gripping the post to simply stay grounded now. I couldn't _not _smile.

I wanted to think of a witty, clever response. One to make him laugh. I could picture him laugh. Something eager, but not too eager. One with mystique, but not unavailability.

_Fuck intention. Fuck perception._

**When?**

It was getting dark. The air around me was tinted green. Then yellow. Then red. When it was green again, he responded.

**What are you doing ten minutes ago?**

My face stung. Too much cold, too much smiling. My frozen fingers hovered over the keypad.

**Leaving work early. What did you have in mind?**

**A date.**

It was how first flutters should feel, tickling up from the pit of my stomach, stuck with the smiles in my throat and lifting me nearly off the ground with grins.

**With flowers and fancy restaurants?**

**Something not like that. Something like you.**

I fucking giggled. Damn the man.

**Pick me up?**

**Now that, I'll do. Address?**

I was fixing it. I was jumping in. I had a date with Edward Cullen.

And damn if I wasn't a bit motherfucking swoony.

**-((-))-**

I officially could not dress myself. Shirts and skirts and dresses littered the floor of my studio, all victims of my pre-date anxiety. My only victory was showering, a minor one considering my hair was still in a towel, and I was nowhere closer to an outfit decision. I wasn't _that_ girl, I didn't stress about shit like clothes and makeup and boys. It was what made the preparation most difficult, I wanted something comfortable, something me. Not dressing to impress, but dressing as an honest display of who I was. I wanted Edward to see me.

Needless to say, when there was a knock on my door I was not prepared. I shoveled up armfuls of fabric and threw them haphazardly into my closet. Jeans, white t-shirt and towel hair it was. I was so eager to see him, I couldn't stop to give a fuck.

I knew it was him, but I glanced through the peephole anyway. I needed preparation, so I was not as bumbling and awkward as I had been the night before. And I even had liquid courage at that point. I was screwed.

Completely screwed when I saw him there, all fish-eye lensed and perfect. Navy beanie and leather jacket, v-neck tee and lip between teeth.

Yep, completely fucking fucked. I opened the door before he could knock again.  
"Before you say anything, I need you to know I had a bit of a crisis," I said. Not my best opening. He was still standing in the doorway, outside my apartment. It felt like miles between us. I needed him so much closer.

His brow furrowed. "What? Are you alright? Is everything okay?" His eyes were intense, my favorite shade of green, tied to nothing but mine.

"Oh no, yeah, I'm fine. I just…" I pointed to my ensemble. "Clearly, I'm not ready."

"Oh. I wasn't looking at your clothes." And then he was. Eyes drifting painfully slowly and I think I felt their touch, from the round of my shoulders to the tips of my toes.

_Did he just lick his lips? Fuck me he just licked his lips._

"Are you coming in?"

Fucking smirk. "Are you going to ask me to come in?"

I gestured him inside. When he passed, he started taking off his jacket, which wafted his cinnamon spice in my direction and I gripped the doorknob for balance. The lines of his back shifted with every move, and I was flat out fucking gaping. He hung the leather on the back of a chair, which I would later sniff. He was looking around, and I suddenly felt really fucking exposed. Everything in there was mine, some piece of me, and there it was, on full display. I took the towel out of my hair. I needed him to say something.

"You've been a lot of places," he said, pointing to the map behind my kitchen table. Push pins were scattered all over the world. Twenty-eight countries to be exact.

"No, those are the places I want to go."

He started toward me. With the slowest steps in my direction, it was a silent torture. I smelled him before I felt him, tender fingertips on my jaw, brushing wet locks back behind my ear, and then his minty mouth close to mine.

"Hi." He could have mouthed the word and not said it. I just knew I felt it in peppermint tufts of breath on my lips, then lips on my lips and I was gone.

We had the oddest chronology.

"I'm sorry." It was all I had.

"For?"

Leaving? Running? Running as fast as I could because when he was that close everything was too clear and too wonderful and that was fucking terrifying? What was I sorry for again?

"For falling asleep last night. I'm sorry I fell asleep last night."

He kissed me again. His forgiveness.

We stood like that, me on the tips of my toes, kissing in the kitchen for minutes. Hours. Not long enough. He broke first. His staring made me blush. I could feel it. He touched my cheek.

"What's the plan?" I asked. He twirled a strand of my hair through his fingers. Wrapped around the pointer, woven through the middle. I was eye level with the hollow at the base of his throat. My nose skimmed the flesh, following the curve of his collarbone to the seam of his shirt and back again.

"Anything you want."

"Well that's hardly creative. Aren't you supposed to woo me? Wine me and dine me?"

He chuckled. It shook me from where I stood beneath him.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you."

_Fucking likewise._

"So, anything I want?"

"Within reason." He found a new strand of hair to play with.

"Can we stay here?" It wasn't presumptuous. It wasn't anything other than I liked the way he looked in my apartment. He was seamless, this was seamless. I was comfortable. I was me here. With him.

"Of course. Do you want dinner? I can go pick something up."

I regrettably broke our embrace to get the delivery menus I had found earlier. Edward sifted through the stack, concentrating on his options. "Which one would you like?"

"One? What are you, new? Try all."

"Are you kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking kidding?" I asked.

He sighed heavily and adjusted his beanie. Without looking up from the menus he shook his head and added, "I like you, Bella Swan."

It couldn't have been more adorable if he said it covered in fucking puppies.

**((-))**

"Seriously? Scully?"

"Yes, seriously."

"You're telling me your first fantasy included Gillian Anderson?"

"I don't understand what's so hard to understand about that, Bella."

"Oh, nothing, except _everything._"

Pizza crusts and chopsticks littered the empty boxes and cartons on my coffee table. We'd finished eating ages ago, settling on the couch with a few beers and conversation. It was the most at home I'd felt in that apartment, sitting there with Edward. Learning him. I had to pace myself, I wanted to know everything. I soaked up his words eagerly, asking question upon question. Not to fill a lull in conversation, there was none. He fired back with frequency, listening to my tales twisted with randomness, taking the longest route to reach the point. He didn't judge me for that.

He'd lost the beanie and his shoes, slouching into the cushions next to me. He fiddled with the fringe on the edge of a throw pillow.

"Great album," he said, pointing in the air toward the speakers across the room on my nightstand.

I stretched and offered a, "mmhmm," in his direction. I glanced at him across the couch, eyes closed, hand wrapped around his green bottle, smirking softly. He looked… fucking delectable.

The air was thicker. I felt it. I swallowed it in hearty gulps, the air around him, around us. I needed to get off that couch to minimize fucking pouncing. I gathered our garbage and piled it into the pizza box, depositing it in the kitchen. I switched the song on my way back to him.

"You do that a lot."

"What?"

"Change songs in the middle."

"Oh, sorry." He put his hand on my thigh. I ignited under his touch, the denim barrier the only thing holding me back from full body flames.

"It was just an observation. Nothing worthy of an apology." He rubbed in small circles on my kneecap, a whisper of fingertips over the fabric.

"Oh, yeah. I do. I have a bit of musical OCD. I don't know why. I mean, I do. It's how my mind works. I'll think of one song and be two ahead. And I'm constantly thinking of order, the sequence I need to hear them in and… fuck, I'm rambling nonsense."

"Made sense to me." He smiled, crookedly, one side anchored and the other tipped slightly higher to his eyes. He had crinkles there, laugh lines.

One cushion separated us. It was like a fucking dividing line, this unspoken boundary that kept the spark partially at bay. I craved his electricity, more than the buzzing connection on my kneecap. Needed to feel it radiating off him, between us, all through me like feeling alive for the first time. Again. In reality, my nervousness was unwarranted; we'd been in a far more compromising position already, a mere twenty-four hours ago. My skin burned briefly in ghostly trails across my body, his previous path. I crossed my legs and tucked them underneath myself, scooting closer. I was testing fate then.

He knew. Of course he knew, because he knew everything, like what to say and how to smile and how to drive me mad with merry-go-round motions over my jeans. Those eyes, moss to forest suddenly, on me, inside me, right through me.

"Hi," I managed, hours after his, keeping up with our twisted timeline. I touched his hair, baby soft through my fingers, shadowed in grays and nighttime blue-greens. Dragging my hand away, he kissed my palm, prickly scruff scratching the surrounding skin.

His lips were satiny secrets on my own, tugging top then bottom, as if he was picking a favorite. His hands kept me on earth, covering my back with their mass, fisting fabric and floating up and down, then up again. Long thumbs wrapped inward toward my tummy, lifting in search of skin. The connection was calling, pulsing veins and goose-bumped flesh, a bumpy road beneath his thumbprint.

His grip was behind my neck then, lowering me slowly to the cushions below. Peppered kisses along my throat, tasting my racing heart. A warm wash of breath tickled my earlobe, followed by quick nips and the steel of his tongue tracing lines along my neck.

"Blackberries and honey," he breathed. With a quick lick above my belly button, he was all clockwise kisses and upward glances.

_Fuck._

I was panting. Flat out panting as he slid up my body, every part of me damning the material between us. I felt him then, all of him, hard at my thigh. I broke free beneath his hold, snaking my leg around his back to rest at his waist. Instinct drove him into me, solid and firm and I whimpered into the heated air around us. He gripped my thigh and pulled, other hand splayed across my back, skin on skin, and lifted me into the air with ease. I was floating in space and breathing heavily, suddenly settled on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. He pulled me to him, fast and steady, the natural rhythm of us, and it was perfection. Utter perfection as I sat, rocking against his hard length, my dampened seams rubbing the most flawless places.

Edward took a sturdy hold of my wrists, cupped in one of his hands, behind my back and craned his neck to catch my lips. Cinnamon kisses as he thrust upward into me, deliciously in time with his breathed, "Bella."

_Fuuuuck._

I was close then, free hands with white knuckles holding fistfuls of his penny-shaded hair, his tongue gliding along the salty sheen of my clavicle.

"Fuck," he moaned, all hoarse and man, guiding me still.

_Fuuuuuuuuucccccccccccck._

Three more thrusts and I was falling, and he was with me, eyes locked and falling, worshipping his name as it fell from my lips, writhing and writhing in our soaked jeans.

His salty sweet lips brushed my matted hair, my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth. I felt his hard exhales across my face, both of us attempting to catch ourselves, not wanting to come back down. We were wonderful there, and it was enough.

There we were, blackberry honey and cinnamon spice. Not knowing what the fuck we were doing, but enjoying the hell out of doing it.

He fell asleep first.

Not all sleepovers were bad.

**A/N: Big ups to annanabanana and ilsuocantante for their surgery of my wordery. And my other loves for their extra eyes, you all are so divine. **

**So yeah, I know, it's legit been like a year. No excuses from me.**

**Here's the deal, you guys are incredible. I have heard the nicest things from these silly words, and I really enjoy writing them. (and try to respond to all of you, sorry if it takes me nine years.) You'll notice this chapter wasn't the monster 10 k the others were, and I'm hoping because of that adjustment, that I'll be more inclined to write more often. This fandom is so much fun, and I love that you all know I'll never be an every day or week updater. Keep with me if you wish, I have fun in store for these two.**

**Now someone cue up Rob's "I don't see nothin wrooooooooooong with a little bump n' grind."**

**Review if you wish. I always love to hear from you. **

**Xoxo Windy**


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